Slightly Broken
by xxlezah
Summary: AU. For the two years after her father's death, Christine finds that she can no longer sing like she used to. When she meets mysterious and distant composer Erik Chanteur, she feels strangely compelled to sing, and takes up his offer to teach her music. However, she finds over time that Erik Chanteur might not be as cold as he seems, and is determined to melt his frosty exterior.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello, hello, hello! Gosh, I knew I said I wouldn't be posting anything up after My Little Rose was completed, but I was listening to the **Fifty Shades of Grey OST** and somehow I really wanted to write. That's also where the title of this comes from, by the way, in case any of you guys recognize it. (Give You What You Like by Avril Lavigne- it's on repeat in my playlist now). I don't know where this story's going, or even if I'm going to have the time to continue it, but it seems like it's going to be a rather short story. I'm not sure yet. Haha.

Anyway, I mentioned in my last chapter of MLR that if I ever wrote another story it would feel weird having another OC with Erik, because I wrote the character Amelie for so long that it felt like the two definitely belonged together.

So for this new story... I decided to do an AU-style story. I must admit, though, that I live in Asia (Singapore, to be exact), and while I really did want to write a story based in the States, I didn't have the time to research on street names/locations, and so you will realize that my story will have very little reference to road names/buildings/schools. In fact, the "Academy" is just something I wrote, because I don't know of any music schools in the States. It's all very fictional, and I took a lot of liberty with this.

Because it's set in an AU, Erik's not the Phantom of the Opera LOL. I really did take a lot of liberty with this. It's about as far removed from the original Phantom as I can think of, not because I didn't want to include Phantom plots, but because it wouldn't have worked in a modern AU setting.

Ok, I've rambled on enough. Now, I don't expect this story to be like MLR (which was a success by my own standards, I'm so so happy that you guys loved that story), or even come close to being as awesome as MLR was... but I hope you guys like it.

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**Chapter 1**

_2015_

She was going to be terribly late, she thought. The bell had already rung quite some time ago, and she had been all the way at the other end of the Academy; it would be too late for her even if she had started to run the moment the bell sounded. Instead, she still had had to pack up her scores and tidy up the chairs in the room before leaving, which meant that she was undeniably late now. Her heart pounding in her chest, she half-walked, half-ran, up to the heavy doors leading to the room that belonged to the Academy's theatre club.

Christine fumbled with her book bag, searching for her access card. Her fingers rifled through the papers in her bag until they snagged on the lanyard that the card was attached to, and she pulled it out triumphantly.

Stealing a quick glance at her watch, she mentally groaned. She was already fifteen minutes late. She quickly swiped her access card and pushed down the handle of the door as softly as she could.

She was out of luck. Almost in unison, the heads of the people in the room turned from where they were seated to stare curiously at her. Christine spotted Meg grinning mischievously, pointing at the empty seat beside her. Mouthing a 'thank you' to Meg, she hurriedly slipped into the seat, her face red.

"As I was saying," the music director, John Gilford, eyed Christine with a gimlet stare, "This year's production will be the Phantom of the Opera."

"Wow," Meg squealed, elbowing Christine. "The costumes for that production are spectacular!"

"Hmm?" But Christine was not listening to Meg, for her gaze had suddenly caught onto a lone figure leaning against the piano at the side of the room, one ankle crossed over the other and one hand tucked into the pocket of his neatly pressed pants. "Meg, who's that?"

"What?" Meg followed Christine's line of vision. "Oh, Mr. Chanteur. They haven't really introduced him yet, besides telling us his name. Which you would have known," she added dryly, "if you had made it here on time."

"I got too caught up with my work again, Meg, and—"

"Wait." Meg suddenly grabbed Christine's arm. "Would you get a look at that?"

"At what?" Christine whispered, ducking her head to avoid the glare that the music director had just sent their way for being too loud.

"Mr Chanteur! He's wearing a… mask?"

Christine looked up again at the mysterious man to see that Meg was right—he wore a white half mask which curved over his face, making one side of his face cold and emotionless. The other side, however, housed a brilliantly green eye, and a strong jaw covered with stubble.

"Wow, what's he playing at?" Meg breathed wondrously. "Maybe he's obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera, and Mr Gilford got him here to help us with the production."

"Maybe he's hiding something," Christine hissed back, unable to take her eyes off the gleaming white mask. "Maybe he's not wearing it for fun."

Meg snorted. "Yeah, how many people do you know would go around with a mask on their faces?"

Mr Gilford cleared his throat loudly, and Meg took that as a warning to keep quiet, beaming innocently at the music director.

"Yes, well," Mr Gilford said. "This year, we have the greatest honour of having someone help us with our production. Mr Chanteur, who I mentioned previously, will be coaching our singers and mentoring us for our show this year."

He gestured to the mysterious man, who stepped forward languidly. He reminded Christine of a large predatory cat. A leopard, she decided.

"Good day to you all," Mr Chanteur said smoothly, and there were gasps all around. Apparently, most of the production members had not seen the man's face when he had been introduced earlier, for Christine could suddenly hear whispers from all around her about the white mask.

"My name is Erik Chanteur," he said, his voice a little colder now that he had heard the whispers. "You may call me Erik, or Mr Chanteur, whichever you prefer. I graduated from this school a couple of years ago, and it is my pleasure to be back here again, helping with the theatre club's production."

There was a smattering of light applause, and Mr Chanteur paused for a few moments before retreating back to the shadows, leaning against the piano once more.

"Right, now, Mr Chanteur will be presiding over the auditions for the roles in the musical next week. The dates will be released soon, with sign-up sheets, and I trust all of you to work hard for your auditions. Now, before you leave, please collect a copy of the script from the table over there," Mr Gilford gestured to a table piled high with booklets. "Those who do not wish to audition for a performing role may also sign up for other roles. You are all dismissed."

"Come on, let's grab a script and head out of here quickly," Meg said, slinging her satchel over her shoulders. Christine followed her as she pushed through the crowd of people moving around in the small room. As she walked toward the table, someone bumped into her, and Christine gave a little squeak as she dropped her book bag.

Sighing, she bent to pick it up, but before she could reach it, a long-fingered hand had reached out and snagged the handles of the bag. Blinking, she looked up into the face of Mr Chanteur.

Silently, he held the bag out to her, and she took it, her face flushing.

"Thank you, sir."

"Erik," he corrected smoothly, before he turned and strode off. Christine stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, until Meg hit her on the arm with a script.

"Why're you just standing there? Come on, I've gotten scripts for both of us!" Meg grabbed Christine's wrist and pulled her from the room.

XXXXX

"Do you want to come over to my house for dinner tonight?" Meg asked Christine as they walked down the front steps leading to the wide expanse of grass outside their school.

"You're cooking?" Christine wrinkled her nose. She was not a stranger to Meg's numerous experiments with attempting to cook dinner, most of which, unfortunately, often ended in strange, congealed lumps that did not quite resemble dinner of any sort.

"Christine Sangare!" Meg said, trying her best to sound hurt. "Whatever do you mean by that statement? Here I thought you _liked_ my cooking!"

The petite blonde girl caught Christine's eye, and together, they burst into laughter. Meg hooked an arm around Christine's shoulders as she steered her down the pavement. "My mother's home tonight. Her employer gave her the day off!"

"In that case, I'll most definitely be coming over for dinner," Christine said. Mrs Gables' cooking was mouth-watering, and Christine could always be sure to leave the Gables house after dinner loaded with frozen casseroles and dishes to last her a week.

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True enough, they entered the Gables house, welcomed with the aroma of freshly baked pie. Mrs Gables stood at the dining table, kneading dough, her apron smudged with flour.

"Hello, girls," she said. "How was school today?"

"Same old," Meg yawned, throwing herself into a chair at the table. "Can we have something to eat?"

"Hello, Mrs Gables," Christine grinned, hanging up her coat on the coat rack.

"Meg, you know what I told you about eating too much," Mrs Gables warned, though she wiped off her hands on her apron and headed to the kitchen, emerging with glasses of milk and slices of pie.

"Dancing daily in school burns everything off me," Meg said airily, attacking the pie. "This is _good_, mother. Why do you have the day off today, anyway?"

Mrs Gables clucked her tongue at her daughter. "It would do you good to remember the things I say once in a while, Margaret Gables! My employer gave me the day off today because he said he would not be in." She kneaded the dough thoughtfully, before her eyes lit up. "Oh! He mentioned that he would be making an appearance at the theatre club in the Academy today. Did you girls see him?"

"What? Who?" Meg asked, her mouth full of pie. She looked at Christine curiously, and Christine shrugged back. She had no idea who Mrs Gables' mysterious employer was.

Mrs Gables frowned. "That's strange. Erik did say he would be helping out with the theatre club."

"Erik?" Christine asked light-headedly, her fork halfway to her mouth, suddenly remembering her encounter with Mr Chanteur in the theatre club's room. "Erik Chanteur?"

Mrs Gables nodded. "Why, yes! So he _did_ go to the Academy today. And what will he be doing there?"

"What?" Meg's mouth fell open. "No way! Your boss is Erik Chanteur?"

Mrs Gables sighed. "Yes, Meg, and I was under the impression that you knew what my employer's name was."

"Yes, but I didn't know they would be the same person! He's there as the new mentor for our next production." Meg said, her eyes bright at this new and sudden discovery. "But mother, why the mask?"

"He wears it for his own personal reasons," Mrs Gables said tightly, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I would not pry if I were you, Meg. It wouldn't be polite. Besides, the man is quite a genius."

"How so?" Meg asked, her eyebrows raised. "He did not exactly tell us much about himself, except his name, really."

"Erik has a PhD in theatrical studies," Mrs Gables said, tucking the finished dough into a pie dish. "He barely graduated more than a couple of years ago from the Academy, and already he is a rather celebrated musician and composer. I'm surprised that you girls haven't heard of him before, actually. You'll be amazed at the sounds he produces with that voice of his!"

Meg shrugged, looking at Christine. "Well, we will see what he's like in the upcoming practices, won't we?"

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After dinner, Christine walked the short distance between the Gables' house and hers, a bag filled with casseroles and pies balanced on her shoulder, as expected. They lived only one street apart, which was also one of the reasons why she and Meg were so close; they had known each other for almost all their lives. Almost fifteen summers ago, Christine had moved in with her father, and that very day, Mrs Gables had knocked on their door with a welcoming casserole, Meg in tow. The two little girls had bonded with each other almost immediately, and had been quite inseparable from then on. When Christine's father had passed away from pneumonia a few years ago, Mrs Gables and Meg had been there for her. She had been very grateful for their comfort, but it did not change the fact that Christine was to be alone from then on.

Her mother had passed away not long after Christine was born, and her father had tried his best to bring his only daughter up. However, at the age of five, he had taken up a new job at the Academy, as a professor teaching music, and together, they had moved to a new house—the house where she stayed now. It was not easy for Grant Sangare to bring up a daughter single-handedly, but they had managed. There were days when Christine had gone to school with crooked braids, or a crumpled shirt, but together, they had been happy. Christine had loved her father dearly.

And then, just two years ago, Grant Sangare had succumbed to pneumonia. Christine had only been eighteen, and losing her father had hit her hard. She remembered two weeks of crying everyday as she wandered through the house, knowing that she would never return home from school to cook dinner for her father again, and knowing that she would never hear him laugh, or hear him teach her music again. Christine had no other family, and she now lived alone in the house. Her father had left behind a large savings account for her, but Christine knew she had to live frugally to make it last. She had a part-time job as a cashier in the supermarket nearby to cover most of her living expenses, and she worked hard in school to make sure that her scholarship would not be taken away from her.

Christine pushed open the low gate to her house, and walked up the driveway, noting the weeds in her garden wryly. She had had no time to maintain the state of her lawn, which was looking rather dismal and dead at the moment. Sighing, she slid the key into the lock of her front door and pushed it open, reaching a hand out to flick the light switch.

The door swung shut behind her as she shrugged off her coat and hung it up.

"Hello, papa," she murmured to the photo frame that was propped up on the chest of drawers next to the door. She tossed her keys onto the wooden surface, and dropped her bag onto the sofa. She stored the casseroles and pies from Mrs Gables in the freezer, ready to be eaten over the next few days, and headed to the bathroom, intending to take a long, hot shower.

Half an hour later, freshly showered and dressed in an old t-shirt and shorts, Christine grabbed the script from her bag and flopped onto her bed. Leaning back against the pillows piled at the head of her bed, she smoothed over the cover of the script and opened it.

_The Phantom of the Opera_.

She immediately thought of the mysterious Erik Chanteur. The white mask printed on the script's cover looked similar to the one covering his face, and again she wondered why he wore it.

_"Erik_", he had told her, in a voice so smooth and deep it had felt like a rich molten chocolate. Christine shut her eyes, replaying the word over and over again. Mrs Gables had said that Erik Chanteur had an amazing voice, and Christine believed her; she rather hoped she would be able to hear it soon. She did not know why, but hearing it almost made her want to sing again.

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A/N: Well, there you have it! Do let me know what you think? I might not continue posting this if I don't get much response, because I'm still a bit unsure about this story! Hope to hear from you guys xx hazel


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2! I actually have a test this week, but I wanted to take a short break just to post this. Nothing much about this chapter, just perhaps a quick insight into Erik's life? I think you'll find that it sounds similar to the story of POTO, but I shall request for all of us to erase the book from our minds and focus only on the musical. In the musical, there was no Nadir, and no back story of Erik, which is why in this story, I've chosen to include Nadir and a backstory, so in a way, it is still an AU. Does that make sense? I hope it does haha I've been studying all day and I'm afraid I'm a little muddled right now.

Masked Man 2: Exceeds Expectations makes me think of Harry Potter! Can I just say I'm so glad that you're reviewing this story as well? -hugs-

Jo Jo: Thank you! I do hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

Skyila: Gosh I hope I didn't take up too much of your time! And yes, this story will be all different from MLR (:

emeraldphan: I couldn't resist writing more! I'm glad you've enjoyed the first chapter, hopefully this second one doesn't disappoint.

Aria of Life: Thank you for sticking around, even after MLR! It really means a lot to me hehe.

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**Chapter 2**

"Well, I still can't believe we're going to be doing the _Phantom of the Opera_!" Meg exclaimed. "All our lives, we have been giggling over how ridiculous it is that we're both named after characters in that story, and now here we are, auditioning for those parts."

Christine smiled at Meg's exuberant gestures. It _was _true; the two girls had grown up watching replays of the musical online, and had gushed over the story and the similarities they had with the characters.

"And along comes our new mentor, and his name is _Erik_." Meg rolled her eyes. "This is unreal. Have we landed in some sort of alternate universe? Are we to become part of the real cast of the Phantom of the Opera?"

Her voice had dropped to a dramatic whisper, and as she said it, she flung her arms wide, belting out the well-known opening chords to the Phantom of the Opera. Christine muffled her giggles behind a hand, grabbing Meg's shoulders and steering her quickly into the school, away from the judging eyes that were now staring at them. Meg had a tendency to be rather overly dramatic—she had been born for the theatre.

"Come on, Meg, it's not _that_ strange. Technically, your real name's Margaret, and Erik's a pretty common name."

"Not the way it's spelt!" Meg huffed. "And don't mention the real name again!"

"Mere semantics, Margaret," Christine said, rolling her eyes. "It's all just an uncanny coincidence, that's all."

"If you say so," Meg sighed, as they passed by the sign-up sheets on the theatre club's noticeboard. "Oh, we might as well sign up for an audition now. Should I even bother asking which role you're auditioning for, my darling Christine?"

"No, you shouldn't," Christine said, fishing into her bag for a pen and writing her name for an audition for the role of Christine Daae. "Though I see that Charlotte has already beat us to signing up for auditions. I don't know why I even bother signing up, though… you know she's going to get the role and I'm just going to embarrass myself again."

"She's such a show-off, anyway, and—", grumbled Meg, before a distinctive male voice cut into their conversation.

"Signing up for auditions?"

Christine gulped. It was him; there was no mistaking that voice anywhere. Slowly, she turned. He was leaning against the wall behind them in the corridor. Today, his formal business shirt and pants had been replaced by a black sweater and jeans, and he looked much younger.

"Oh, Mr Chanteur," Meg trilled. "How nice it is to see you!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Margaret, am I right?"

Meg turned a bright shade of puce. "I'm going to have some words with the mother," she muttered under her breath, as Christine laughed. "It's Meg, actually," she said brightly to him.

He nodded acquiescingly. "Meg, then." He turned to Christine. "And you…"

"Christine Sangare", she murmured, sticking out her hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Chanteur."

He took it courteously, giving her hand a brisk shake, his green eyes looking at her piercingly. "I shall look forward to hearing you sing, then, Miss Sangare," he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue easily. He nodded to the two of them, before walking away.

"You've got it bad, girl," Meg commented as Erik walked off. "Earth to Christine!"

"What?" Christine said distractedly, still looking at the formidable figure of Erik Chanteur disappear through the crowd. "Did you say something, Meg?"

"Yes," Meg said drily. "Do stop ogling our new theatre mentor, Christine."

"I am _not_!" Christine's jaw dropped.

"Mmm, yes you were," Meg whispered conspiratorially to her. "And for the record, if he weren't wearing a mask, the man would be rather attractive, indeed. Except for his cold demeanour and the absence of any expression on his face, of course."

"Meg, keep quiet," Christine said, her face flaming. "He's our new mentor!"

Meg winked at her, and waved. "Well, off I go for ballet now. I'll see you later!"

She skipped off gaily, leaving Christine to meander to her voice lessons by herself, her face red.

She pushed open the door to the classroom just as the bell rang, and was, unsurprisingly, the last person to arrive. Charlotte, who was sitting in the second row of seats, smirked at her rather unpleasantly as Christine made her way to an empty seat in the front row. Christine dropped her book bag onto the floor before her, and rummaged in it for her scores.

"I heard you signed up for an audition already," Charlotte hissed, poking at Christine's shoulder from the seat behind. "Christine Daae?"

"I just signed up ten minutes ago, how did you even— never mind," Christine sighed. "And yes, I did."

"That role's mine, you know," Charlotte said fiercely. "I was the star in our production last year, and the year before as well."

"Yes, well, things change, Charlotte," Christine whispered back, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. "Charlotte, there are auditions for a reason."

"Just a heads-up to you to let you know that auditioning will be a waste of your time again, anyway," Charlotte sniffed haughtily. "You'll just be relegated to a position in the back-up singers again."

Her comment hit home and burned, but Christine ignored the ache in her heart and refused to reply to Charlotte's biting comment. It was true that for the past two productions, Christine had been unable to score any role in the main cast, and had always been assigned a role with few lines and minimal singing. In the first two years of her studies at the Academy, when her father had still been alive, Christine had fought fierce battles during the auditions against Charlotte, to land the lead role in two productions. It was a fact that Charlotte bitterly resented, and the reason why she kept bringing up the past two productions to Christine. After her father had passed away, something had died along with him in Christine's heart; somehow, she could not bring herself to sing to a large audience any longer, not when she knew that she would not be able to look out into the crowd and see her papa's beaming, proud face again. Christine was able to sing well enough alone or in small groups, but the moment she stood on the stage to sing individually, and looked into the audience, she tensed up. And yet, even alone, she could not seem to put her heart into singing again.

It was something she had been unable to get over for two years, and something she wished she would be able to conquer. This was her graduating year, after all, and this problem would curb any dreams she had had of standing on the stage and singing.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of lessons, Christine hurriedly shoved her things into her bag, intending to rush home to practice for her audition.

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"Did everything go well?" Nadir asked as Erik pulled open the door of the backseat and entered the car.

Erik grunted in response as he unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water and took a long drink.

"Not so good?" Nadir winced as he started up the engine of the car. "You should have let me talk to them instead… that's what the manager's job is for, you know."

"If you'd talked to them, you would have caved in at the first moment. They wanted me to grace the premiere event of the movie," Erik scowled. "Something about how the composer of the soundtrack should be in attendance, and all that nonsense. I said no, but they kept pushing for it. I only agreed to take on this composing job as a favour to Nathaniel, but this is pushing the boundary of ridiculousness."

"Understandably," Nadir reasoned gently. "After all, it is not uncommon for the major players in a movie's production to be present for the launch of the movie. Besides, all you need to do is turn up at the event, and you'll be able to leave after a short while. It will not be that bad."

Erik merely snorted, and leaned back against the headrest. He disliked public appearance. He detested having to appear before the flashing lights of cameras, always the subject of gossip in his mask, and he abhorred having to answer questions shouted at him as microphones were shoved in his face. Erik much preferred the comfort and solace of his own home; there was much to be enjoyed in a glass of red wine while lounging on a large chaise, with music playing softly in the background as he stared out of the window of his penthouse apartment at the brightly lit skyline.

It was the mystery that fuelled the questions and the gossip. Erik was the son of the greatly celebrated Madeleine Bellerose-Chanteur, one of the most talented theatrical stars in the industry during her time, and Charles Chanteur, a wealthy composer who had passed away in a freak accident not long after Erik was born. Madeleine herself had long since retired, but her name was still thrown around now and again, said in reverence and appreciation of her beautiful voice and her stunning looks. As a child, Erik had barely been able to catch more than a few glimpses of his mother. She had been busy with her schedules, with training, with lessons, far too busy for a child that reminded her too much of her late, beloved husband. Erik had been precocious as a child, demanding for his mother's attention, and spending far too much time in his music room, preoccupied with the piano, and passed from nanny to nanny.

Until the day an arduous fan-turned-stalker had decided to take revenge on Madeleine for all the times that she had declined his invitations to dinner. At the age of seven, Erik had been allowed to go out with Madeleine once, because her schedule for the evening had been cancelled. He had been delighted at the opportunity, and remembered gambolling down the emptying streets in the evening beside his elegantly dressed mother.

The accident was something of a blur in Erik's mind, but he recalled a dark shadow dashing toward his mother, the malicious intent clear on his face. He recalled shouting as he saw the stranger brandishing something silvery; he had thought it was a knife. The stranger had thrown the item at them, but had had terrible aim.

It had hit Erik instead, and then there was pain.

It had been agonizing pain, eating at his flesh.

Erik remembered rolling on the floor, screaming as the pain ate away at him. He remembered hearing Madeleine's shrieks, and the wail of the ambulance's sirens, and then there was nothing else, only blessed oblivion.

When he had woken up, he had been confused, a young boy lying in a hospital bed. It had been starkly white, and clean, and sterile. He remembered Madeleine's horrified face as she sat beside his bed, a slight hint of regret and sadness in her eyes—but only the slightest hint. He saw the pitying looks on the nurses' faces as they changed the dressings for his wound.

It had been acid, he heard the doctors tell his mother. It had been acid, and she had been lucky that an ambulance had been nearby when the accident had happened. It had been luck that had saved Erik's life, but that same luck had seen fit to rob Erik of his face. There was only so much surgery could do, and the doctors had tried their best to repair Erik's face as well as they could, but they dared not go any further for fear that they would damage it further. There had been a lot of medical terms and difficult-sounding words that Erik had not understood, but he had understood one thing quite clearly—he was now ugly.

The side of his face that the acid had landed on had been ravaged by the chemical. It had been fixed up as best as the doctors could, but nothing would change the fact that his skin was now a little bumpy and scarred, and the corner of his eye drooped slightly.

From then on, Erik had worn a mask.

And along with the mask that now hid half of his face, Erik had retreated into his own world. He spent most of his time alone, without speaking much, and relegating all his energy into learning music. He loved music with a passion that ate at him, as much as the acid had. Erik had private tutors and was home-schooled, for he refused to enrol in any schools, and Madeleine, perhaps hoping to save herself from some embarrassment at a masked son, had agreed to hire private tutors for him. By the time Erik had enrolled in the Academy, he had mastered the piano and violin, and knew how to play several other instruments rudimentarily. He sang with a voice that some of his voice teachers had said sounded almost exactly like the male counterpart of Madeleine Bellerose's voice. But unlike his mother, Erik would never stand on the stage.

He had graduated from the Academy, and gone on to achieve a PhD in musical theatre. Erik now worked mainly as a freelance composer, though the number of job requests that came in were so overwhelming that his manager, Nadir, had had to reject many of them. He had worked with many top stars hoping to release a new album, though he did not prefer composing pop music, and he also worked with a few orchestras, coaching them in their techniques.

But still, he remained mysterious. Despite numerous requests for Erik's appearances at musical premieres, or book launches, or just any sort of event, Erik politely declined almost every invitation that was sent to him. It had the musical industry clamouring to know more about him, but Erik Chanteur firmly remained as he had always been—a mystery.

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A/N: Well, wish me good luck for my test tomorrow! See you guys soon!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Every time I write, I somehow miss My Little Rose just a tiny bit. I guess I can't quite forget my first proper written piece of work! Anyway, in this chapter, we have more Erik-Christine interaction, and I hope you guys like it!

Bonpetitedoodles: Thank you! Gosh, I know, I'm so used to writing concise work for essays and reports that it's just so liberating to let the words and descriptive phrases flow.

Masked Man 2: Thank you! The test went horribly, but everyone found it difficult, so I guess I can only cross my fingers. Accounting's always been such a scourge, haha. I feel like it's so difficult to keep the musical, and the actual people separate, sigh. Perhaps I shouldn't have had them act out POTO for their production, but it seemed like a viable idea when I first started writing. Hopefully it works out!

Tsuray: Thank you for your encouragement! (: I'm glad you like it so far, and don't worry, I intend to keep writing for as long as I am able to.

emeraldphan: Well, I wouldn't say that Madeleine Bellerose was exactly a 'loving parent', but she was present, at the very least! I'm glad you like the story so far, please stay around for updates! (:

grandma paula: Thank you very much, hopefully the following chapters will not disappoint.

Thank you to new followers/favourites/reviewers (:

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**Chapter 3**

Christine flipped through her script nervously as she sat next to Meg, nodding distractedly at whatever Meg was saying. Apparently, Meg had taken a great interest in their new mentor, and had spent the night searching him up on the Internet.

There had been little information to be found, it seemed. According to Meg, the man rarely appeared at events held within the music industry, and even if he did, there were usually few photos of him posing before the photo wall or red carpet, despite the fact that he was rapidly achieving the status of a well-known celebrity composer. Meg was excitedly reciting to Christine a list of stars that Erik Chanteur had worked with before.

"And look at this!" Meg whispered, waving her phone in front of Christine's face. "His mother is Madeleine Bellerose!"

Christine took the phone exasperatedly and looked at the screen, where Meg had pulled up a photo of two people posing as they walked down the red carpet. The headline below the photo proclaimed that Erik Chanteur had escorted his mother to the premiere of a musical where Madeleine Bellerose was to perform a special piece to celebrate the debut of the musical. The two of them could not have looked any less similar. Where Madeleine Bellerose was petite and small, resembling a pixie with a lustrous mane of blonde curls, Erik Chanteur stood tall and intimidating, with his jet black hair combed back neatly. The only similarities were the piercing green eyes and aquiline nose.

"Wow, I never knew Madeleine Bellerose had a son," Christine commented.

Meg frowned. "It was kept very quiet. There are very few articles about the Chanteur family online, and she hardly ever talked about her family in interviews. I wonder why?"

Her musings were cut off by the creak of the door to the theatre as it swung open, and the man in question strode in, followed by Mr Gilford.

"Settle down, settle down," Mr Gilford roared over the hubbub. "Auditions will begin shortly!"

Erik Chanteur and Mr Gilford took their seats in front of a table that had been set up for them, arranging scores, paper, and pencils neatly on the surface. Then Erik clapped his hands sharply, causing the noise in the theatre to die down instantly.

"When your name is called," he said, his voice loud in the suddenly silent room, "kindly proceed to the stage and begin your audition. I must inform all of you beforehand that I will be observing your auditions very strictly, and I hope you have all been serious in your practices. After all, I require nothing but the best performance from all of you, and I trust that you will not disappoint me."

He said all these without a smile, the words emotionless and distant. Christine briefly wondered how a man with such a beautiful voice could speak thusly.

"He sure doesn't mince words," Meg grimaced. "Great, because now he's got me all nervous."

"Relax, Meg, you've been practising all week," Christine said, patting her friend on the arm. "You've nothing to be worried about. Besides, all the other people who signed up for Meg aren't half as good as you are. It's me who's got something to be worried about."

Meg sighed. "I've told you so many times, if only you would go onto that stage and sing like you once did, you would outshine Charlotte by so many times!"

"I wish I could, too," said Christine sadly. "I just can't seem to do it anymore. Not since papa…"

Meg hushed her, for Erik had called out the first name, signalling the start of auditions.

When it was Meg's turn, she bounded up onto the stage energetically, giving a graceful curtsey to Mr Gilford and Erik Chanteur. Mr Gilford laughed and applauded, but Erik merely raised his eyebrows and gestured for her to start. The music began, and Meg took a deep breath before starting her ballet routine. She sang the few lines of Meg Giry's perfectly, if a little shaky at the start, but overall she shone brightly as usual. Christine grinned as she watched Meg's performance; she did not doubt that the role would go to her.

"Thank you, Margaret," said Mr Gilford, when Meg finally ended, breathing heavily and beaming happily. "Well done."

Christine could see Erik nodding approvingly as he scribbled notes down onto his paper.

The rest of the auditions passed in a blur. Some people forgot their lines, and some burst into tears as they stood on the stage, unable to continue singing. Others did well, and skipped off the stage happily, high-fiving their friends in the audience. As Christine waited for her turn, she rubbed her clammy palms on her jeans. Erik Chanteur, she noticed, was not too big on his compliments; he rarely praised any of the people auditioning.

"Charlotte Redcliffe," Mr Gilford called.

Smiling serenely, Charlotte practically glided onto the stage, looking picture perfect in her white dress and ginger ringlets. She gestured to the pianist to begin, and launched into her rendition of "Think of Me".

Christine closed her eyes as she let Charlotte's voice flow over her. Charlotte had a good voice, albeit a little too nasal and screechy at times. Christine prayed fervently that she would be able to sing the way she sang alone in her own room, during her own audition. She looked around and noticed Erik Chanteur sit up a little straighter, observing Charlotte closely.

When the song ended, Charlotte bestowed the two judges with a brilliant smile that flashed perfect white teeth, and Mr Gilford clapped gustily for her. "Well done as always, Charlotte."

"That was a good rendition," Erik Chanteur said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. At his words, Charlotte smiled prettily and curtsied, thanking him.

"And lastly…" Mr Gilford looked at the list before him and frowned. "Christine? Christine Sangare?"

He had good reason to be frowning. For the past two auditions that he had presided over, Christine had marched onto stage bravely, only to be unable to produce as much as one well-sung line, much less a complete audition. Christine sighed, and stood up.

She made her way to the stage, passing by Charlotte, who gave her a triumphant grin. Christine rubbed her hands over her jeans again, and climbed up the stairs leading to the stage. She nodded to the pianist, who began the opening chords of her chosen song.

Christine looked down from where she was standing, straight into the green eyes of Erik Chanteur, who was watching her intensely. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and began to sing.

It started off well enough. She sang the first few lines of the song as she had intended to. But then she made the mistake of allowing her gaze to wander away, and her brain began to register that she was standing on stage before a room of people.

Her voice caught in her throat even as she willed it to continue, and she stared, aghast, at the theatre club members who were scattered around the seats in the theatre, looking at her curiously. She took a deep breath, and opened her mouth to try to continue, but nothing came out.

The pianist had stopped, wondering why Christine was no longer singing, and Christine could feel a flush creeping up her neck and face.

She could not continue.

She just… she did not want to continue. There was no point in trying again, for it would be the same as it had always been.

"I… I'm sorry, I… Sorry." She said, stumbling over her words, before she ran off the stage and back to her seat, feeling very much like a dog returning in disgrace, its tail between its legs.

There was a very deadly silence in the theatre. There was no need to clap, of course, for Christine had not even managed to sing a verse, but some people had their hands frozen in a gesture that suggested they had been ready to clap but had decided against it.

Christine half-ran to her seat, her fists clenched and her nails biting into her palms painfully. She collapsed into her seat, her hands covering her face, and the burn in her eyes threatening to spill tears.

"Oh, Christine," Meg said sympathetically, putting an arm around her shoulders. "It wasn't that bad."

"It was," Christine mumbled, leaning back in her seat. "It was as bad as it always was…"

"Right, that's the end of auditions," Mr Gilford announced, standing up and breaking the awkward silence. "Results of the auditions will be released soon. You can all leave now!"

Immediately, there was the buzz of excitement from all around the theatre now that someone had spoken. The chattering groups of students breezed out of the theatre, smiles on their faces now that they had completed their auditions. Christine sat still in her seat with Meg next to her, unable to get up and leave the place in her current state of embarrassment and horror.

"Told you she wouldn't be able to sing it," she heard Charlotte's triumphant voice from somewhere along the aisle, followed by a responding giggle from one of Charlotte's friends.

Christine groaned, closing her eyes. She wondered how she would be able to graduate and carry on with a singing career if she was unable to get over this problem of hers.

"Christine!" Meg suddenly hissed, hitting her on the arm.

"Meg, please let me wallow in my own self-pity for a few more minutes," Christine said. "I cannot believe…"

"As much as I would love to wait around for you to indulge in your pool of self-pity, I am in somewhat of a rush," said a male voice coolly. "Therefore, I would like to ask that you hear me out now."

Christine gave a small squeak, and jumped in her chair, sitting up straight. Erik Chanteur now stood in the aisle next to them, looking down at her emotionlessly.

"Mr Chanteur! What… what can I do for you?" She clenched her fists, feeling the cold clamminess of her palms.

"I would like to hear you sing again," the man said simply. "Your voice has a lot of potential."

"I… I can't," Christine whispered. "Didn't you hear me just now during my audition?"

"Yes, but there were people in this theatre just now," he said impatiently. "There is nobody else here now, and I would like to hear you sing again."

"But there is no music, and no pianist and…"

"Are you always this obtuse, Miss Sangare?" Erik Chanteur snapped, turning and striding back to the stage. "It might have occurred to you that I am fairly capable of playing the music for your audition piece."

As he walked, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, before flexing his fingers. Christine gaped at him.

"Well?" He said irritably as he lifted the cover of the grand piano. "Are you going to sing again, or are you just going to sit there with Meg?"

Christine gulped, and slowly made her way over to the stage. She climbed back up, and stood centre stage again.

"Not there," Erik said, and gestured to a spot in front of the piano. "Right here so that I can hear you better."

She nodded, and moved, and almost instantly, he began to play the music for the song she had intended to sing during her audition. His green eyes never left hers, the piercing gaze urging her to sing.

Nervously, she took a deep breath and began to sing. "You were once my one companion…"

In that moment, Christine closed her eyes and felt like there was nobody else in the room. There was only her, and the music in the background, and her voice, which soared from her like a glorious songbird reaching out to the heavens. It felt as though her voice was coming from her effortlessly, as though it was an extension of her body. She sang like she had always sung.

When the song ended, she opened her eyes to see that Erik Chanteur was staring at her fiercely, a strange look in his eyes. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her pounding heart.

"Why did you not sing like this before?" He demanded. "What was that during the audition?"

"I… I…" Christine fumbled for words. "I couldn't sing during the audition. I… I have stage fright."

It was the best reason she could come up with to explain her condition, but Erik's eyes just narrowed at her, and she felt like crumbling under the intense pressure from the cold green eyes. She could not explain the situation any other way; it was just as startling to her that she had been able to sing in front of him.

"We're going to have call-back auditions," he said decisively, retrieving his phone from his pocket and typing out a quick message on it. "You're going to redo your audition."

"No," Christine protested. "The result will be the same!"

He pinned her with his unmoving gaze once more. "An audition with Mr Gilford and I, and Miss Redcliffe. I trust you will be able to perform to the best of your abilities then."

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and closed the grand piano gently. "I shall expect to see you here again tomorrow at three o'clock on the dot, Christine."

The door to the theatre creaked again as he pulled it open and strode out in the corridor. There was a deafening silence in the room after he left, as Meg and Christine stared at each other, dumbfounded.

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"You're late from leaving the auditions," Nadir observed as Erik entered the car.

"I was held back," Erik said as way of explanation, and Nadir nodded. He was used to Erik's cryptic and short answers to his queries.

"There was a student," Erik began, and Nadir's eyebrows shot upward, for it was unusual for Erik to elaborate more about his thoughts.

"What?" Erik scowled at him. "As I was saying, there was a student who auditioned, and failed terribly the first time. I made her sing again, when everyone had left, and… good god, Nadir, you should have heard her voice!"

"Was it good?" Nadir asked.

"Good? Good?" Erik repeated incredulously. "She sounded like a younger version of my mother—no, perhaps she has the potential to be even better than my mother at her prime. That's how _good_ she sounded."

Nadir nodded thoughtfully. "So, what's the problem?"

"She cannot sing in front of an audience," Erik frowned, running a hand through his hair. "Her audition began quite well, I should say, until she let her gaze wander to the audience, and then she just… froze."

"It could have been stage fright," Nadir pointed out. "An affliction that strikes most performers, no matter how good they are."

"I thought that would be the case, and it was also what she claimed it to be, but I know from Mr Gilford that she had performed in the lead role in two productions a couple of years back. It befuddles me how a student who has such stage fright could play the _lead_ in not one, but _two_ productions." Erik said, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. "I intend to find out why."

"Might I ask why?" Nadir ventured cautiously. "Why this sudden interest?"

Erik shrugged, rolling his shoulders slightly to relieve some of the tension from his aching muscles. "If she is as good as I think she is, she would make a good student."

Nadir choked slightly on his own words. "Would that be a good idea, Erik? After all…"

"Enough of your worries, Nadir," Erik snapped. "Do not bring up Mirelle before me again. I do not intend to repeat that incident. I merely want to help a student bring her voice to the heights that it deserves."

Sighing, Nadir dropped the topic, and, quite wisely, drove Erik back home in silence.

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A/N: Please do follow/favourite/leave a review to let me know what you think! (:


	4. Chapter 4

Update: I don't know why the p align things suddenly appeared, because it looked completely fine on my computer when I posted it but I read your reviews and realized there's the p align thing..? Goodness knows what happened, so I'm reuploading the chapter! Sorry for the inconvenience guys!

A/N: Another week, another chapter! I should forewarn you guys that I have finals coming up pretty soon, so hiatuses are expected.

Tsuray: She's a character I have yet to introduce into the story! (: And thank you! I'll try my best to include some fluffy scenes.

Masked Man 2: She will definitely get the part, though I agree it would be a surprising twist if she didn't! Though it reminds me slightly of the POTO plot, of course. I think Charlotte sings well enough, just not as good as she thinks she is, so she wasn't written to exactly resemble Carlotta (:

emeraldphan: You bet Christine will have a positive influence on him! (: That's her job in this story, haha!

Skyila: Ooh congrats on the new job, and all the best with it! Don't worry too much about reviews, the story will still be here when you have more time (: Oh man, that's pressure to write Raoul well! I'll see how I can stuff him into the story, though I don't want to call him Raoul anymore, it feels wayyy too much like a POTO story then... but there aren't many guy names resembling Raoul that I can use. -dilemma-

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**Chapter 4**

It was a quarter to three when Christine slipped into the music theatre, her heart thudding in her chest. She placed her bag down on one of the seats and walked up onto the stage. She stared at the empty expanse of seats before her. She could sing like that. Her mind knew it was only a practice.

Sighing, she walked over to the piano and lifted the cover, running her fingers over the ivory keys as she warmed up her voice. She could not really play the piano, and had never really had a profound interest for the instrument, but she was able to use it for simple scales.

The door to the theatre creaked open again, allowing a beam of light to shine into the otherwise dim theatre, and a lump formed in Christine's throat as she spied the tall figure of Erik Chanteur striding purposefully toward the stage.

She got up hastily.

When he reached the stage, he arched one eyebrow at her. "Why did you stop?"

"Good afternoon, Mr Chanteur," she said nervously. "You're early."

He clucked his tongue at her. "It is a bad habit to be late, surely. Shall we run through some warm-up exercises together?"

Before she could protest or even respond, he had gently pushed her aside so that he could sit down on the piano bench. He flexed his fingers and placed them on the keyboard, and began to play some basic scales.

"Sing," he commanded, and Christine felt compelled to do so. She opened her mouth and sang.

When he finally stopped playing, he looked pleased. "Your foundations are built quite well, indeed."

Christine beamed. "My papa was my music teacher," she said, before realising that she had brought him up, and quickly shutting her mouth.

Erik merely looked intrigued. "Your father?"

Christine nodded numbly. "He passed away a few years ago."

He opened his mouth, no doubt to offer condolences, but at that moment the door to the theatre opened again, and this time it was Mr Gilford and the theatre club's pianist, followed by an irate-looking Charlotte.

"Oh, Erik, you're here already," said Mr Gilford. "Shall we begin the auditions, then?"

"I do not understand why we need to have repeat auditions," Charlotte snapped, folding her arms crossly. "Mr Chanteur, was my performance yesterday not up to your standards? Christine could not even complete her audition!"

"I have my reasons, Miss Redcliffe," said Erik silkily. "Are you questioning my abilities to discern between good singers?"

Charlotte flushed red, but thankfully did not push the topic. His lips thin with annoyance, Erik walked stiffly to sit beside Mr Gilford, gesturing for the pianist to take her position. Christine scurried off the stage, as Charlotte took her position.

"I don't know what you did yesterday, you little witch", hissed Charlotte as Christine walked past her, "but the role of Christine Daae is mine."

Then the opening chords were played, and Charlotte began to sing once more.

"Very well done, as usual, Charlotte," said Mr Gilford. "And now, Christine?"

He looked suspiciously at Erik, as though he, like Charlotte, could not understand why the man had called for another audition. Erik jerked his chin toward Christine, nodding slightly, and Mr Gilford sighed.

Taking small, mincing steps, Christine walked slowly to the stage, feeling as though the world were a blur around her. The pianist smiled at her encouragingly, and Christine smiled back nervously, her palms feeling clammy again. She rubbed them against her jeans, and nodded for the pianist to begin.

As she waited for the opening chords of the song to start, she looked into the audience at grim faced Mr Gilford, and Charlotte, who was sitting with a mutinous look on her face, and Christine's heart seized uncomfortably. She felt the familiar lump in her throat rise again, and she swallowed in horror. If anything, she had to sing this. She had no idea what Mr Gilford's reaction would be if she messed this up again, especially since it had been Erik who had requested for a second audition.

Her gaze flew frantically to his, and she saw that his eyes were fixed on her. Her lips parted imperceptibly in a hapless gesture, but she thought he noticed anyway, and his eyes narrowed.

"Sing," she saw him mouth, and she took a few deep breaths, staring him in the eye. He nodded slightly, an indication that she should sing, and Christine opened her mouth to try.

The first few notes she sang were shaky, and out of the corner of her eyes she could see the crease of a frown on Mr Gilford's face, but she forced herself to continue looking at Erik's face, and at his intense green eyes.

It was strange, but it gave her the courage to sing. And so she sang. She sang like she had the day before, when he had commanded her to sing for him. She sang like she had before her papa her passed away. It felt like liberation, like some sort of emancipation.

When the song was over, Christine broke her eye-contact with him, breathing heavily, and a little unsure of what had just happened, for she could not believe that she had managed to sing before an audience. It was something she had not been able to do for two years.

When she looked back at him again, there was a hint of a lopsided smile on his face—one corner of his mouth crooked upward. Christine felt her heart skip a beat.

"Well," said Mr Gilford, breaking the tense silence in the theatre. "That was… very well done, Christine. I don't believe I've heard you sing like that for two years now."

Christine smiled nervously.

"In any case, thank you both for coming for this call-back auditions," continued Mr Gilford, scribbling some notes onto a piece of paper in front of him. "You may go now."

With her nose in the air, Charlotte sniffed haughtily and flounced out of the theatre, not bothering to even look at Christine. Christine sighed and picked up her bag, before leaving the room as well.

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"How did it go?" Meg pounced on her as soon as she stepped onto the lawn outside the school. "Christine Sangare, did you sing like you did yesterday?"

"Yes," Christine admitted.

From the shocked look on Meg's face, it was clear that she had not been expecting a positive reply from Christine.

"You sang?" She stared at Christine, her eyes wide. "You could sing in front of people?"

"It was strange," Christine said, shrugging. "Somehow… I'm not sure how exactly, but when Mr Chanteur looked at me, all I wanted to do was not to disappoint him. After all, he arranged this call-back audition for me. And somehow… I just sang… and…"

She broke off as she noticed a familiar, tall figure walk up to a car that was waiting a short distance away on the road. "Give me a moment, Meg," she said, before she dashed toward the car.

Erik had had his hand on the handle of the open door, and was about to get into the car, when Christine ran up to him, shouting his name. He paused and looked at her curiously.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Sangare?"

"Yes, I mean, no," Christine huffed. "Mr Chanteur, I just wanted to say thank you."

"Thank you? For?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Christine felt a flush creep up her neck despite herself.

"For… for the call-back audition," she said hastily. "Even though the role will still go to Charlotte, it was… liberating to sing again."

"Liberating?" He frowned, picking up on her use of the word.

"Yes," said Christine dreamily, as though her mind had wandered off to a scenario where she was singing on the stage once more. "It felt like freedom. That's what being able to sing again felt like. Freedom, and happiness, and…" She stopped, embarrassed, and coughed awkwardly.

"And… well, that's what I wanted to thank you for, Mr Chanteur," she said haltingly, wincing inwardly at how ridiculous she had sounded.

"It was no trouble, Miss Sangare," he said as he opened the car door wider and slid in. "I hate to see talent being wasted, that is all."

As she turned to go, she heard him say, "And Christine? I wouldn't count your chickens before they're hatched. About the audition, I mean," before the car door clicked shut and the vehicle drove off, leaving Christine alone on the pavement to realize that it was the first time that Erik Chanteur had referred to her by her name.

"What was that all about?" Meg asked, when Christine walked back to her. "You look a little shell-shocked."

"It was nothing," Christine murmured. "I just wanted to thank Mr Chanteur for allowing me to sing again."

"It's really quite amazing how you could sing again in his presence, though!" Meg said cheerily. "I mean, you haven't been able to sing in front of an audience in _two_ years, not even in front of me!"

Christine allowed Meg's chatter to distract herself from her thoughts as the two walked home together, but she could not stop herself from thinking the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, Erik Chanteur was the reason why she could sing again.

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"You little bitch!" Charlotte shrieked at Christine, as Christine approached the theatre club's noticeboard. "Are you sleeping with him?"

"What?" Christine asked incredulously. "Who? What are you talking about?"

"This!" Charlotte spat, her face livid with rage. "Look at this!"

Christine looked at the place where Charlotte was jabbing a perfectly manicured fingernail. _The role of Christine Daae_, the words on the announcement said_, goes to Christine Sangare_.

"What?" She asked faintly. "But… how…?"

"That's the question I would like to ask you!" Charlotte snarled. "Everyone who was present at the audition knows that _I_ should have this role, not you! You could barely even sing! How did you get this role?"

"I don't know," said Christine honestly. "Seriously, Charlotte, how could I have influenced Mr Gilford and Mr Chanteur's decisions? Why don't you ask them instead?"

"Don't you worry—I'll do just that!" With one last poisonous glare, Charlotte stalked off, her fists clenched. Christine watched her go, chewing her lip with worry.

"What was all that commotion about?" Meg asked, as she spotted Christine looking at the noticeboard with apprehension. She walked over to where Christine stood, and scanned the noticeboard quickly.

"Oh! Margaret Gables as Meg Giry!" She squealed, pointing at her name on the list. "Christine, I got the role of Meg!"

Mutely, Christine pointed to her own name on the list. Meg followed Christine's finger to the words printed on the paper, and silently, her mouth formed an "O".

"I know," Christine sighed resolutely. "There's going to be a scene during our meeting later."

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"I cannot accept this!" Christine heard a high voice shrill out as she entered the theatre with Meg. She grimaced, knowing that her prediction had come true.

Charlotte stood at the front of the theatre, her red lips pursed in anger, and her arms crossed. "Mr Chanteur, I demand an explanation!"

Christine's gaze drifted to Erik Chanteur, who was sitting in a front row seat, his legs crossed. She could sense an air of irritation surrounding him.

"There is no 'explanation', Miss Redcliffe," he said shortly. "I merely felt that Miss Sangare will be able to carry off the role more adequately than you will."

"But how?" Charlotte laughed derisively. "We all saw it! She couldn't even sing during her audition. I cannot see how a person with any common sense would think that she would be able to play the role of Christine Daae better than I could!"

"And that, Miss Redcliffe, is the reason why I am the mentor for this production," said Erik, standing suddenly, "and why you're not."

His voice was cold and sharp, and brooked no argument. Charlotte stood there with her lips tightly pinched together in a straight line, her displeasure evident on her face. She stared at Mr Chanteur, unsure of whether or not she should push her argument.

"As the mentor of this production," Erik snapped, "it is of my opinion that Miss Sangare will do a better job at playing this role than Miss Redcliffe. The first official rehearsal is in two weeks. If any of you wish to doubt my opinion, I would like to request that you wait until the first rehearsal to hear Miss Sangare sing. By then, if you have any strong opinion why Miss Redcliffe should be the one playing Christine Daae instead, I will consider your argument. Have I made myself clear?"

He spoke to the rest of the theatre club members, but his gaze was focused solely on Charlotte, his green eyes unyielding and hard. To Charlotte's credit, she merely flinched, and walked away, her face red with humiliation. There was a murmur of assent from around the room, and he nodded, satisfied.

Christine stood rooted to her spot, unsure of what to do. She could feel curious glances from all around her. There were those who had been with her in the theatre club since they had enrolled in the Academy, those who had heard her sing before. They were the ones looking at her encouragingly now, but then there were those who had only joined after Christine had stopped singing. They had no reason to think of Erik Chanteur as anything but unreasonable, for they knew that for the past two years, Charlotte had been performing much better than Christine. Christine winced to think of the bad impression that many of them would probably have formed of Erik Chanteur because of this scene.

She walked slowly up to him, thinking of what to say to him.

"Mr Chanteur," she said carefully, when she reached him. "Perhaps… perhaps it would be best if…"

"If the role went to Miss Redcliffe?"He snapped, guessing her thoughts. Christine looked down and nodded silently.

"If I wanted to give her the role, I would have done so from the start," he said harshly. "Why do you not have any confidence in your abilities?"

"I… I can't sing, Mr Chanteur," Christine looked up at him again. It was a mistake, for the disgusted look in his green eyes had her eyes welling up in tears as she remembered how magical it had felt to sing again.

"Mr Chanteur, I can't sing in front of a crowd. Please…" She shook her head and blinked her eyes furiously, unwilling to cry before him. "Charlotte would be able to sing it."

"No," he said mutinously, his mouth set in a stubborn line. "I know you are able to sing the part, and you will sing it."

Christine groaned inwardly, her mind replaying a horrific scenario in which she tuned up for the first rehearsal, and stood on the stage, her voice caught in her throat again, as Charlotte and the rest of the theatre club members laughed at her. She would be relegated to the chorus or backup roles again, humiliated and defeated.

"…lessons. Miss Sangare, are you listening to me?" His voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked at him again to realize that he was frowning quite intensely at her.

"I—I'm sorry, what did you say?" She whispered.

"I am willing to teach you, Miss Sangare." He raised his eyebrows at her. "To prepare you for the first rehearsal. I trust that you do not wish to embarrass yourself, or me, in front of the whole club?"

"I… yes…?" She said nervously, clenching her fists. Her palms had grown clammy again.

"Good." He handed her a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it. "This is my address. Shall we say, tomorrow at five o'clock?"

"Oh," said Christine suddenly, "I just remembered that I have a shift at the supermarket then. I can't make it."

He made an annoyed noise. "After your shift, perhaps? What time does it end?"

"Eight at night," Christine said apologetically.

"That will be fine," he said impatiently, looking at his watch. "I'll be expecting you around that time, then."

"Do—do we have to do this at your house?" She asked nervously. "Wouldn't the school be a better place?"

"It would be inconvenient for us to stay in the school at such a late hour," he said, frowning. "I can assure you that no harm will come to you in my house, Miss Sangare. You need not worry."

Christine flushed a bright red. "That's not what I meant, I—"

"Good. Then I'll see you tomorrow for our lesson." He cut her off briskly, and marched off, tapping on his phone as he went. Christine was left to stare at his retreating back as he walked away.

_Lessons alone with Mr Chanteur? How did I get into this mess?_

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A/N: Please follow/favourite/leave a review to let me know what you think! It would mean a lot to me! xx


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Whew, made it through another week of school. I'll probably take a hiatus next week, since finals are coming up in two weeks and I really need to catch up with school work! There is some drama in this chapter... I hope I handled it well!

Masked Man 2: Gosh, I can't imagine how you even read it with those p align things, I'm glad I could remove them... sigh. I think Christine's vulnerability makes us all cheer for her as the underdog!

Tsuray: Rehearsals are going to be so fun with Charlotte around, mwahaha.

emeraldphan: Charlotte's definitely going to be doing lots of things with petty tricks, tsk tsk...

And thank you to all new followers -hugs-

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**Chapter 5**

Christine patted down her hair nervously as she stood in front of the building Erik Chanteur stayed in. It was a short bus ride away from the supermarket she worked at, a tall building nestled in a group of similar skyscrapers, their metal and steel facades looming down haughtily. He lived in an upscale part of town, just a short distance away from Christine's neighbourhood, which was filled with short, squat terraces that gave off a homely feel. No, the place Erik Chanteur lived in was all cold and foreign.

She entered the building. A doorman sat at his table, observing the CCTV feeds from the screen before him.

Christine cleared her throat nervously and the doorman smiled up at her.

"How may I help you, miss?"

"Ah, I'm here to see Mr Chanteur," Christine fumbled in her pocket for the address. "He lives on this floor."

The doorman looked at the piece of paper. "Mr Chanteur, yes, that's the penthouse apartment. Please go right up. I'll buzz his apartment to let him know that there is a visitor."

She thanked the doorman and made her way to the large, solitary lift. She stepped in, and pressed the button for the correct floor.

When the glass doors slid open again, she was looking at a large steel door. A small plaque emblazoned with the word "Chanteur" hung above the peephole. Christine paused, unsure of what she was supposed to do, when the door swung open to reveal Erik Chanteur, dressed in a moss green ribbed sweater and grey pants.

"Good… good evening, Mr Chanteur," said Christine, her throat suddenly dry. "I'm here for our lesson."

He said nothing, the exposed side of his face as devoid of emotion as the white mask on the other side. He merely stepped aside to let her enter. She entered his house cautiously, removing her shoes and placing them on the metal rack beside the door. His house smelled like pasta and freshly baked bread.

"Have you eaten?" He asked abruptly, right as Christine's stomach rumbled.

"I came over right after my shift ended," she explained sheepishly. "But it's alright, I…"

"How can you sing on an empty stomach?" He asked fiercely. She shrugged, biting her lip, unsure of how to respond.

He gestured to the dining table, which held a large bowl of pasta and a plate of freshly baked bread. "Eat." He demanded. "My housekeeper makes splendid bread and pasta."

"Oh, I know," Christine said without thinking. "I eat dinner at her house often."

At his querying look, she explained, "I know Mrs Gables very well; we are neighbours."

"Ah," he said, a look of recognition dawning upon his face. "I should have realized, seeing as you are always around her daughter."

Christine smiled slightly, and moved to the table, where she took a bowl of pasta and some bread, painfully aware of Erik Chanteur's gaze on her.

After she had eaten, he waved to her to follow him, and led her to a door in his apartment. He opened it, and stepped inside. Christine's mouth dropped open. It was his music room, and it was a room that looked like she had stepped right into a dream. The room was obviously quite large, with floor length windows that were covered by heavy cream drapes. The drapes were pulled back from the windows and tied with tasselled ropes, revealing the night sky dotted with stars, and the skyline of the skyscrapers in town. Christine could almost see the multi-coloured lights from flashing billboards on some of the buildings in the distance. A large grand piano dominated most of the room, and along one side of the room stretched a huge mahogany bookshelf stacked to the brim with manuscripts, scores, and music-related books. She spied a few very valuable first editions up on the highest shelves, neatly arranged and preserved in glass boxes. A large wooden clock hung on the wall, intricately carved with patterns, besides a few still-life paintings. There was a writing desk covered in stacks of manuscript paper, some already scribbled with pencilled notes on the staves. The bulbs arranged in an abstract pattern on the ceiling cast the room with a warm, golden glow, and the stereo system in one corner of the room was playing a soothing song.

Christine could not help but breathe in sharply in appreciation.

He looked down at her, clearly amused. "I gather you like my music room, Miss Sangare."

"Like it?" She breathed, her eyes wide. "It's magical. It makes me want to sing."

He looked at her closely for an instance, but did not say anything, and merely moved to lift the cover of his grand piano. "Shall we?"

"What if I can't sing again?" She asked, her eyes wide.

He shrugged. "You will sing."

And wondrously, she did. As she stood before the piano, her hands trembling slightly, her mind was filled with self-doubt. But he placed his hands on the ivory keys and looked straight at her even as his fingers danced across the keyboard, and she felt herself captured by his intense gaze once more. He held her gaze steadily as he played out the opening chords of the song, and somehow, just somehow, she opened her mouth and sang. Perhaps it was his commanding presence, or the way his green eyes filled her with warmth even when the rest of his face was so expressionless, but Christine felt alive enough to sing.

He played the piano accompaniment as she sang, and often he stopped her mid-way through the song, correcting her techniques and scolding her on her lack of emotion. Occasionally, he demonstrated to her the way he would prefer her to sing the song, and each time, Christine was a little star-struck at how beautifully his voice flowed from his throat. Mrs Gables had not been lying when she had praised the man's voice. Christine was surprised at the all the small details that he pointed out to her, little nuances that she would never have noticed if she had learnt how to sing the piece by herself.

At the end of two hours, he finally stopped, looking slightly pleased.

"I think we should call it a day," he said, before he looked at the clock and frowned. "I did not realize it was so late."

He followed her out of the music room, shutting the door firmly behind them. "How are you getting home? Perhaps I should get my manager…"

"I'll just take the bus," Christine said hurriedly, slipping her shoes on and darting out of the door before he could say anything else. "Thank you for the lesson, Mr Chanteur."

Erik was left to stare at the door closing behind her. For a moment, he had wanted to insist that she take the car home, but no, he had promised himself not to go down the same path again.

"Has she left already?" Nadir asked from behind him. Erik turned to see his manager coming out of his room in the apartment. He nodded to answer him.

"I thought you would offer the car," Nadir commented, as he headed into the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of wine. "I was looking forward to a conversation with her."

Erik frowned. "There will be no need for conversations with her, Nadir. Besides, it would be best if I remained as distant as possible."

"I thought you wanted to teach her?" Nadir asked wryly, sipping on his wine. Erik glowered at him darkly.

"Teaching her does not mean that I have to be friendlier," he retorted. "It means that I teach her what I know, and help her achieve her goals of singing on the stage."

Without waiting for Nadir's response, he marched back into his music room, where he threw himself furiously into composing. The sound of the chords from the piano and the therapeutic scribbling of notes onto manuscript paper were a balm to his soul, and they brought him away from unhappy memories, memories that threatened to haunt him even now.

XXXXX

"Fancy grabbing some dinner together?" Meg asked as she untied the laces of her _pointe_ shoes. "Mum's going to be out in town doing some shopping, so I've got to figure out dinner by myself."

"I can't," said Christine apologetically. "I've got something on."

Meg's eyes narrowed. "Are you keeping something from me, Christine?"

"No," replied Christine, a little too hastily. "I just wanted to practice for the upcoming rehearsals. You know I can't sing in the presence of company."

Meg still looked suspicious, but thankfully, she let the matter drop. Christine felt a little guilty lying to Meg about her lessons with Mr Chanteur, but she feared that if Meg knew, there would be a chance that someone else would find out. Earlier that day, Christine had been walking through the corridors on the way to her next class, when a dark-skinned man had stopped her suddenly, passing her a note from Erik Chanteur which had requested for her to drop by again for a second lesson.

Christine took her time with the laces of her own shoes, waiting until Meg had left, before she hurriedly kept her shoes in her locker and grabbed her bag. She walked quickly out of the Academy and headed to catch the bus which would bring her back to Erik Chanteur's house.

In a little less than an hour, after a quick dinner at the deli down the street from the Academy, she was standing before the tall, cold, building once more. The doorman nodded at her in greeting, recognizing her from the previous day. Christine stepped into the lift and waited for the giant metal contraption to bring her up to his house.

Just as the lift doors opened, the door to his house clicked open as well, giving Christine a small shock. She squeaked in surprise.

"Henry buzzed me to let me know that you were coming up," he said as way of explanation. Christine assumed that 'Henry' was the doorman. She smiled tentatively at him.

"Good evening, Mr Chanteur," she said.

He did not reply to her greeting, merely raising his eyebrows and nodding his head. Then, he turned and walked to his music room. She followed in his wake, her eyes shifting around his apartment. There were many closed doors, and she wondered briefly what lay behind those doors—if those rooms were as magical as the music room.

This time, when he sat down on the piano bench, he did not start their lesson immediately. Instead, he asked Christine the one question she had been waiting for, yet dreading.

"Why can't you sing in front of a crowd, Miss Sangare?"

"Stage fright?" She whispered. "I look at the crowds, and my throat seizes up."

"You could sing in front of me," he said accusingly, as though Christine had refused to sing during her first audition on purpose.

"I don't know why, Mr Chanteur," she murmured, looking down. "If I knew why, I would be sure to take advantage of the reason so that I could sing again."

"I know you used to play the lead role in productions," he said, drumming his fingers on the cover of the piano. "Why the sudden change? What happened two years ago?"

She took a deep breath. "My father passed away."

He frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"He was the reason why I started to sing, Mr Chanteur. My papa was my first music teacher, and he made me love music. He made me love to sing."

"And…?" He prompted her as her voice died off. "Do you not love to sing any longer?"

"No," she protested. "But after papa died… I just… I couldn't. I couldn't look at the crowd any longer, knowing that he wouldn't be there smiling at me, proud of his only daughter. He was there for every single one of my performances, be it a small recital for my classes, or the big scale theatre club production. And now that he's gone… I think I saw no reason to sing any longer."

She trailed off, her eyes prickling with tears. Her reply to Erik Chanteur had brought back old memories of standing centre stage, beaming out at the audience as she tried to spot her papa. He had always tried to get a seat in the front row, and she would usually glimpse a sight of him, clapping vigorously in his seat, a smile framing his whole face. He had been so proud of her; on the car ride home, he often enthused about her voice, and talked about how her mother would have been proud of her, if she had still been alive.

"Then you lie when you say that you love to sing," he said coldly. "For you only loved the praise you received for the music."

"That's not true," she whispered, looking up at him through eyelashes that dripped with tears. "How could you say that? I loved—love to sing, and I just can't anymore, not after papa…"

"Your father was the reason you sang?" He snapped. "After he passed away, you saw no more reason to sing again? What do you call that, if not a love for the praise and adoration your father heaped upon you every time you sang? If you truly loved music, nothing would be able to stop you from singing. In fact, I very much doubt that your father would have liked to see you unable to sing after he passed away. If you do not get over yourself, Miss Sangare, you will never sing before a crowd again."

"I don't think you could ever understand the pain I felt," Christine said, her voice rising in volume and her face turning red. "He was my friend, my teacher, and my father. I loved him; he was the only parent I'd ever had. When he died, it felt like a part of me died along with him. I didn't feel alive enough to sing. I couldn't sing without remembering that he would never hear me sing ever again. And I know he _loved _to hear me sing. How could you understand the pain, the grief I felt when my papa passed away?"

"Yes, I cannot understand, because my own father passed away before I ever had a chance to know him." Erik said very coldly, and very quietly.

Christine paused in her tirade. "Oh," she said.

It seemed that they had reached a stalemate. Christine could not exactly blame him for not being able to understand the grief she had felt, and yet she was still furious at him for so simply assuming that she had sung only because she had loved the attention.

"Perhaps I cannot understand," Erik said slowly. "But the fact remains that you can only move on from here. How many more years? How many more years of silence, Miss Sangare? I find that if you look deeper within yourself, you will realize that my words, though biting, have some grain of truth in them. You cannot bear to sing in front of a crowd again because you know that you'll never hear your father's praise again, never feel the attention he lavished upon you."

"Enough," Christine said angrily, barely able to keep her rising temper in check. "It would be presumptuous of you to say so, Mr Chanteur. It is grief, and grief alone that keeps me from singing."

He stared at her silently for a few moments. "The day you get over yourself, Miss Sangare, will be the day you are able to sing before a crowd once more. And you'll realize that singing, requires no praise and no adulation, but only the gratification of having achieved your own dreams."

"I think I should leave now," Christine said, unwilling to listen to his harsh words any longer. "I am sorry that today's lesson did not work out, Mr Chanteur. Perhaps we can schedule one for another day."

Without waiting for his reply –she had no wish to listen to it anyway—she turned and left the room. Her eyes burned as she stuffed her feet into her shoes and left his house, not tears of grief this time, but rather tears of anger, and humiliation. She felt as though he had used a knife to carve up her insides and reveal all her little secrets and fears, and she felt raw and exposed.

On the bus ride home, Christine tried to calm herself down. And as she stared out of the bus window, at the streetlamps passing by in a flash, she thought about what he had said.

It was not true, she comforted herself. She could not sing any longer after her papa had died, because… because… Christine buried her head in her hands and groaned.

Perhaps Mr Chanteur had been slightly right. But only slightly.

When her papa had died, Christine had been faced with the realization that there would be no more praise. There would be no more waiting on the front steps of the Academy after the performance, waiting for her papa to bring the car round, his face lit up with a bright smile. She had been faced with the horrifying reality that the one man who had called her his "little songbird" affectionately, and had nothing but affection to bestow upon her, was gone. It had left her with a cold, empty feeling every time she sang.

And the next time she had tried to sing before a crowd, she had failed, and slowly, the lead roles had been taken away from her. Perhaps it was also the shock that there was nobody to comfort her like her papa had always done, coupled with the grief, which had made her stop singing altogether. She had continued signing up for auditions and practising on her own, but her heart had not been in her singing. She had once dreamed of singing on the stage—in the past two years, that dream had been nothing more than a fantasy, since she had not moved one step closer to it at all.

Until she had met Erik Chanteur, who had believed in her voice enough to call for a second audition. He had coldly commanded her to sing again, yet his eyes had been warm and filled with promise. When Christine looked into his eyes, she had felt hope.

She thought of what he had said—that singing required no praise and adulation. She gritted her teeth in determination, sure that she did not need his help any longer to sing. _I'm going to show you, Erik Chanteur, that I didn't sing merely for the praise. I sang because I loved to sing._

_And I vow to you, I'll sing again._

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A/N: Whew, what a hurricane. Lessons, then no lessons, whatever next! Please favourite/follow/leave a review to let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the terribly long hiatus! I mentioned earlier that I was going through my uni exams, so it stopped me from taking out time to post. To be honest though, I have all the time in the world now and yet there's a terrible writer's block that's stopping me from writing : It might have something to do with the fact that I can't stop chain-watching korean dramas (deprived of them throughout the whole school semester lol), which makes me not want to do anything, except, well, watch the next episode, of course (Anybody here watches Healer? I'm currently on Blood).

But anyway, I have pre-written chapters, so I thought I'd just post something up, but I'm not sure if there will be new chapters regularly, at least until I get over this writer's block!

It feels a little strange to reply to reviews because it's been what, a month, and I'm still a little wobbly and trying to regain my interest in this story... so for those who have stuck around to see this new update, thank you very much!

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**Chapter 6**

It had been five days ever since Christine Sangare had walked out on their lesson—not that Erik had counted them. Of course, he refused to admit that perhaps he could have been less harsh on her. Nadir took great pleasure in needling him daily about the fact that his student had actually walked out on him, the lofty Erik Chanteur.

"She's not my student yet," Erik had said angrily. "And she walked out because she knew that what I'd said was right."

Nadir had merely rolled his eyes and reminded Erik that his words often tended to be a little harsher than the normal person, and that Christine Sangare had simply not been accustomed to Erik's way of speaking.

Erik walked into his music room, ruffling his hair irritably. He popped one of his favourite CDs into the stereo, and the strains of Beethoven's Pathétique filled the room, the contrasting loud chords and soft notes soothing him. He sat onto the sofa next to the stereo, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

The first rehearsal was to be in a week now. He wondered if she intended to turn up for the rehearsal without any more lessons from him—he wondered if she would have the guts to turn up and be unable to sing. John Gilford would be furious with both of them. Erik mused briefly if it would cost him his position as mentor for the theatre club. It would not be a job he missed; he had only taken on the role as a favour to the principal of the Academy, as part of the alumni. When the principal had asked him to quote his salary, Erik had asked only for a nominal fee—he saw this job as a mere voluntary act, for he did well enough from composing to live very comfortably.

Still, he did hope to see this production to its end, and he did hope to be able to teach Christine Sangare. Erik's brow knitted in frustration. He was a little of a stranger to the stronger emotions of guilt and sadness—perhaps because, as he had told her, he had never had a chance to know the man who had fathered him, but more because of the fact that Madeleine Bellerose-Chanteur had never seen much need for such emotions. His mother had never been dramatic; god forbid she show any form of hysterics or temper in public. Even within the enclaves of their own house, Madeleine Bellerose-Chanteur had been a cold, distant figure, much like the porcelain figurines she loved to collect. Erik, in time, had also learnt not to reveal much of his feelings and to keep everything tamped down. There was no need for silly emotions such as grief.

He stood with a determined look. He would wait for Christine Sangare to contact him again. The lessons were to her benefit, anyway, and he did not believe for a moment that she would dare to step into the theatre for the first rehearsal, only to embarrass herself before the theatre club and Charlotte Redcliffe.

XXXXX

In the end, it was Christine who cracked first.

She had tried to convince herself that she did not care whether or not she had more lessons, that she did not care what Charlotte's reaction would be when she sang during the first rehearsal, but she had failed quite miserably. The day before, she had sat Meg down firmly in her bedroom, and declared that she would sing.

The look on Meg's face had told her everything.

Christine had steeled her nerves and forced herself to sing before an audience –it was only Meg, but it was a start—but her voice had refused to cooperate as much as she had hoped. She had managed to sing, yes, but the sound that had emerged from her throat had been far from satisfactory. She was left clinging onto the last vestiges of the feelings that had gone through her mind when she had sung at Erik Chanteur's house. The feelings of liberation and freedom and joy—she wanted to feel them again. But more than that, she was afraid that he would not turn up at the first rehearsal, and she would not be able to sing. If that happened, the role would go to Charlotte.

For the first time in two years, Christine found herself desperately wanting to hold onto this role.

After school on Monday, with more excuses made to Meg, Christine found herself on the bus to Erik Chanteur's house. She had no idea if he would be at home, and no way to contact him to find out. Thinking back, it might not have been the best idea, but it was Christine's last resort, and she was determined to sit on his doorstep until she saw the man.

She alighted at the correct stop, and made her way to the building where he lived. Sighing, she looked up at the indomitable structure, wondering what she would say to him later on, and wondering if he would still be angry.

"Looking for someone, Miss Sangare?" A deceptively calm and soft voice came from behind her, and Christine almost jumped out of her skin. She turned hastily to see the man in question standing right behind her. He was dressed casually again, in a turtleneck sweater and slacks, his hands in his pockets. His face was, as always, coolly expressionless.

"Mr Chanteur!" She blurted out, feeling her cheeks turn hot. "I—I…"

She broke off, unsure how to continue, and his brow creased, as though he did not like standing out here in the open speaking with her. She noticed several pedestrians shooting curious glances their way.

He took her elbow silently, and guided her into the building.

"Good day, Henry," he said pleasantly to the doorman, who smiled at them both.

They entered the lift quietly, with Christine still unable to formulate some words to say, and Erik his usual silent self.

"Might I inquire the reason behind this visit?" He asked, almost sarcastically. "I shall assume this is not a social call."

Christine winced. She almost preferred having him shout at her instead.

"I just… I wanted to…" She paused. He raised an eyebrow at her caustically.

"I wanted to apologise for walking out on you last week, and I wanted to ask if you could teach me again," she said quickly in a rush. "But I'm not going to apologize for getting upset about your words."

"Hmm," he agreed nonchalantly. "Perhaps I was too harsh."

She stared at him, thinking that she must have heard him wrongly. "I'm sorry?"

Now he looked annoyed. "Do not make me repeat what I say twice, Miss Sangare. I will not apologize, either, for saying those words to you, because I will stand by what I said. However, I shall agree that perhaps my choice of words was too harsh for the situation. You must understand that strong emotions are somewhat of a stranger to me. Now, can we put this behind us and continue with our lessons?"

He said it all in a very brisk, very business-like tone, as though the two of them were merely discussing a business deal, and not the argument they had had. His voice was almost emotionless, like his claim of being a stranger to emotions.

Christine nodded slowly. "Yes. I would like that very much."

"Good." He gestured for her to follow him to the music room.

XXXXX

It was dinnertime in the Gables' household, and Christine sat at the dining table with Meg and Mrs Gables, the clinking of their spoons against the bowls punctuated by Meg's usual chatter.

"Could I ask a favour?" Christine asked suddenly.

Mrs Gables smiled at her. "What is it, Christine?"

"Could I sing for you both later? Just one song?" Christine looked at them beseechingly. "It's just… the rehearsal is tomorrow, and I want to try singing before an audience."

Meg nodded around a mouthful of ravioli. "Oh yes. I think you'd better. The last time you sang to me…" She trailed off, wincing. "Let's just say that I've seen you at your best before."

Christine mock-glared at Meg, though she knew that Meg was right. Mrs Gables nodded affably.

"I don't see why not. You used to sing for us all the time, when we had you and your father over for dinner. I must say I have missed hearing you sing, Christine." She smiled warmly. "What are you singing?"

"_Think of Me_," Christine said, "From the Phantom of the Opera."

"Oh, your papa did so love that musical!" Mrs Gables said, smiling broadly. "Go on, then."

Christine took a sip of water from her glass. She stood nervously. "If it's bad… just let me know. Please. I don't want to be a laughingstock during the rehearsal."

She took a deep breath. It was only Meg and Mrs Gables, after all. They of all people would not judge her. She could do this. For the past three days, she had been working hard with Mr Chanteur. He had drilled her relentlessly on her basics, claiming that she had had to start from scratch. It had taken many long, painful hours, and a lot of frustration on her part, for she insisted that she had learnt it all before. And yet he had been right to start her from scratch, for Christine somehow felt better about singing than she had felt for two years.

She clenched her fists momentarily, then forced herself to relax; tensing up would not help her in any way. Then, without any musical accompaniment, Christine sang.

She sang a little haltingly at first, unsure of whether she would be able to pull it off. As she sang, she realized that she was looking into the expectant faces of Mrs Gables and Meg, and that stifling feeling in her throat, the one that always stopped her from singing, was almost absent. She still felt it –she did not expect Erik Chanteur to have worked miracles with it—but somehow, she fought on. Christine thought of his commanding presence, and she felt more confident. She let herself be immersed in the song, and she sang.

When the short piece was over, she looked at them apprehensively. Mrs Gables had a wistful look on her face, and Meg looked positively delighted.

"Oh, Christine Sangare!" She leapt up from the table, almost upsetting her glass of water in the process. "What sorcery have you been up to?"

"Was it fine, Meg?" Christine asked, grimacing a little.

"It was brilliant!" Meg exclaimed, grabbing Christine's shoulders. "I haven't heard you sing like that… well… the last time was on the day of the audition when Mr Chanteur forced you to sing, but before that it was a whole two years of silence! What changed? What's happened?"

Christine shrugged. "I'll tell you more about it soon, Meg," she murmured, a little unwilling to speak of her lessons with Mr Chanteur so openly. "Do you think I am ready for the rehearsal?"

"You definitely are," Mrs Gables said, standing up to clear the table. "Christine, I must say it is wonderful to hear you sing again."

That night, Christine lay on her bed in her dark room, staring at the rivulets of light creeping in through the gap in the curtains.

_Two years, papa. Two years spent in silence. _

_You must have been so ashamed. That your daughter should let your death and subsequent loss of affection stop her from singing._

_No more, papa, I vow it. You will be proud of me, I promise. _

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A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! As usual, please fav/follow/leave a review to let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Rawr, the writer's block is killing me. I can barely type a paragraph. I think it's because this is an AU so the whole storyline is original, whereas in My Little Rose, I had the original musical and book to guide me. Plus, I just started my new job today and it was madness, I'm so tired I could just fall asleep right now. Needless to say, I have no energy to write ):

This week, I have another pre-written chapter from ages ago! Thank you to new favs/followers!

Tsuray: Hahaha the love won't start so soon! I like a slow build-up, unfortunately.. :P

Masked Man 2: I think at this point in time, Erik couldn't give two hoots about how his words would endear him to Christine, hahaha! He's probably just used to having his own way and saying what he wants, bigshot composer that he is..

emeraldphan: Thank you! I do hope I get over this block soon too. And yes, I can't wait til Erik gets to show his softer side!

Cora DeBlaere: Thank you for the encouragement! I'm glad you enjoyed (:

moonlightrose1991: Thank you! Yes, I do hope I get the inspiration to keep going!

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**Chapter 7**

The day of the rehearsal dawned with a bright and sunny morning. The birds in the garden were chirping merrily as Christine ate her breakfast, and she took it as a good omen that the rehearsal would go well. Her stomach gurgled unhappily, and she tamped down the feelings of nervousness that were threatening to spill over. She packed her bag for the day and left the house to meet Meg down the street before they headed to the Academy together.

She spent her lessons shifting restlessly in her seat, unable to concentrate much on what her professors were saying. Her mind was drifting off to the songs she had to sing during the rehearsal later on, and her fingers were tapping the rhythm of the beat on her table.

When at last the bell rang to signal the end of the last lesson, Christine grabbed her book bag gratefully and rushed out of the class, heading to the theatre.

"Hey, Christine!"

She turned to see a senior walking toward her, waving with a bright smile on his face. She smiled. Theo was just one year her senior, and he had been one of those who had encouraged her even when she had been unable to sing.

"Hey, Theo," she greeted him. "Are you heading for the rehearsal?"

He grinned widely. "That I am. I'm looking forward to working together! Do you know how long I've waited for this? Two years, Christine! Thankfully you decided to get your voice back on the year I'm graduating."

Christine groaned. "Don't remind me of the two years, please, Theo. I'm not even confident that I can sing again even now. Which role are you playing?"

Theo pretended to look aghast. "Why, Christine Daae! Do you not recognise your Phantom?"

Christine laughed at the ridiculous expression on his face. "The Phantom! I had no idea, I was too shocked to look through the results of the audition. Congratulations, Theo! That's a really big role, and such a good one to land during your graduation year too!"

Theo nodded thoughtfully. "I thought I wouldn't get it, but Mr Chanteur told me he had faith in my abilities. He's not a bad mentor, I'll say."

"Hmm," said Christine non-committedly, a little surprised that Erik Chanteur had gone out of his way to even encourage Theo. "We will see during rehearsals, I guess."

They had reached the door of the theatre, and Christine pushed it open.

"We are early, aren't we?" Theo began to ask, but broke off at the onslaught of music as the door opened.

From their vantage point at the door, they could see a lone figure sitting on the stage, illuminated by the few stage lights that were switched on. He was sitting poised and elegant at the grand piano, his fingers dancing merrily over the keys and playing a jaunty tune that Christine had never heard before. The pianist was so engrossed that he had not even noticed Christine and Theo enter. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back slightly, as though he were in rapture.

Then, almost abruptly, the music came to a sudden halt, and the pianist lifted his hands quickly off the keyboard. He looked to the right, and saw Christine and Theo standing in the doorway.

"Ah," said Erik Chanteur. "I apologise. I saw the piano and was distracted. Do enter."

He sounded slightly breathless, as though he had been putting all his heart into the song. It was strange, for Christine had never really seen the man show much emotion, and yet here he was, with even a slight flush upon his exposed cheek.

"That was some playing, Mr Chanteur!" Theo enthused, walking in. "What song was that?"

Erik Chanteur tilted his head slightly. "I had a sudden brainwave upon entering this theatre and I decided that I _had_ to play it out once, before I forgot all about it."

"It sounded amazing," Theo said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Composed on the spot!"

Mr Chanteur allowed the slight ghost of a smile waft over his face, though he said nothing.

"As we are early," Theo said, looking around the empty theatre, "would you like to sing with me, Christine?"

"Oh…" Christine looked at Mr Chanteur uncertainly, but he merely looked intrigued.

"Why not?" He said, nodding at Theo. "I would like to hear the two of you sing the title song together."

"But we… I mean, I haven't practiced that yet," Christine hastily amended, before she blurted out the secret that Mr Chanteur had been teaching her.

"Are you backing down from a challenge, Miss Sangare?" He asked drily, though his eyes gleamed. She frowned at him.

"I'll sing," she said, and Theo cheered.

The opening chords of the _Phantom of the Opera_ thundered through the theatre under Erik Chanteur's agile hands. Christine could feel her nerves climbing higher and higher.

As he played, he looked up at her, staring with those green eyes. His eyes were the most expressive part of him, she had realized. His face and his words might remain emotionless, but he could not seem to do the same with his eyes. When he was angry, his eyes flashed a very dangerous green that rather intimidated Christine. And yet, right now, his eyes were filled with a strange warmth, as though he were encouraging her to sing.

Christine clapped a hand over her heart to calm her nerves, and began to sing.

"In sleep he sang to me…"

When Theo joined in for the Phantom's part, she saw Erik Chanteur nod approvingly at him. Together, their voices melded as one in the chorus, climbing higher and higher yet, the two tones intertwining, serpent-like, in their own rendition of the song.

Christine finished the song a little shakily, feeling a little unsure of herself.

There was a light smattering of applause from the door. She whirled around to see that a small crowd had gathered in the theatre. Some of them were beaming at the duo, and others were looking at Christine wondrously. Christine spotted Charlotte standing at the back of the group, looking mutinous and rather unhappy. She'd bet anything that Charlotte had been praying for Christine to still be unable to sing during the rehearsal.

She looked back at Theo, who was beaming as he ran a hand through his black hair. "Christine, that was amazing! I haven't heard you sing like that in ages."

"There is still room for improvement," said Mr Chanteur quietly, and Theo smiled sheepishly.

"How did I do, Mr Chanteur?"

"You missed the beat slightly on this note," he murmured, jabbing a long finger at the musical scores sitting on the piano. "And you were a little off-tune…"

Christine stood stiffly as Erik Chanteur and Theo launched into a discussion of Theo's singing techniques and how he could improve. She wondered what she could do now—either make her way off the stage to face the rest of the theatre club members who were filing in slowly now, curious looks on their faces and no doubt waiting to bombard her with questions, or stand awkwardly in this position. At that moment, she could have sworn she saw Erik Chanteur look up and gift her with the rare flash of a smile, so quickly that she thought she had imagined it. And yet, as she looked pensively at his eyes, she realised that they brimmed with approval. It had not been her imagination, then. Yes, the man was still standoffish and cool in his comments, but she could see that he had been pleased with her singing.

"Christine," Meg trilled, skipping up to her and saving her from the situation. "Christine, you sounded great! Hello, Theo! And good afternoon, Mr Chanteur!"

The man looked up and raised his eyebrows at Meg as a form of greeting. She laughed coquettishly and linked an arm around Christine's, dragging her off the stage. Christine tore her eyes away from Mr Chanteur and Theo, who were still talking intensely, and followed Meg down to the seats.

"Are you going to ever tell me how you can suddenly sing again?" Meg asked airily out of the corner of her mouth.

"What?" Christine looked at Meg.

"Come on, Christine, I've known you for _years_. I can tell when you're keeping something from me!" Meg tapped Christine's forehead indignantly. "Besides, there's also your sudden ability to sing again. And no, don't tell me it was because you loved this production so much that you miraculously rediscovered your voice."

"I'll tell you later, Meg," Christine said hesitantly. "I just… I just don't feel comfortable sharing it at the moment."

Meg shot her a stare that promised that she would get the truth out of Christine, but thankfully did not pursue the matter. Christine sighed in relief. She did not feel quite ready to share the details with Meg yet—after all, Mr Chanteur had mentioned that he was willing to teach her to prepare her for the first rehearsal, which meant it was only a short term thing. It was the first rehearsal today, so Christine expected that there would be no more lessons anyway. There was no real need for Meg to know.

XXXX

Exhausted, Christine unlocked the door to her house and stepped in, shucking off her coat and throwing her bag onto the floor, not caring where it landed. It had been a very long rehearsal, and she felt tired to the core.

She had been able to sing, after all. It had taken a lot of courage to stand on the stage again for the rehearsal, and she had felt the same anxiety again, but she had looked into the audience and seen him sitting there stiffly, staring at her intently. His presence had comforted her somehow, and truth be told, Christine had no wish to disappoint him, not when he had spent so much time coaching her. She had sung – though admittedly it was still not at her best— hoping that she would be able to prove it to herself that she could triumph over her own fears. This rehearsal had given her the courage to even dare to think that she had a chance at pulling the role of Christine Daae off, perhaps even sing it like she had used to sing. She felt a glimmer of hope, and she prayed that she would be able to nurture it into reality.

Her mobile began to vibrate from within her pocket, and she dug for it hastily.

"Hello?" She asked uncertainly, looking at the unknown number on the screen.

"Miss Sangare," he said, and she gave a small squeak in surprise.

"How did you get my number? Are you a stalker?" She blurted out.

She heard him snort. "Your particulars are on the list of students taking part in the production. I can assure you, Miss Sangare that I have no wish to, as you put it, _stalk_ you. I have better things to do with my time."

"Oh… well." She coughed sheepishly. "Is there something wrong, Mr Chanteur?"

"Something wrong?" He sounded surprised. "No, there isn't. I was merely calling to ask if you would be interested in continuing our lessons."

"Yes. Yes, definitely! Yes! When can I come over next?" Christine asked excitedly in a rush, suddenly sitting up straight. She felt a strange warmth flood through her, and realised a little belatedly that she had been a little dejected all evening because she had assumed that their lessons would come to an end now that the first rehearsal was over.

There was a long, pregnant pause, and Christine worried briefly that she had come across as a little _too_ enthusiastic.

And then, she could have sworn she heard him _chuckle_. But that was impossible, for Erik Chanteur was not one to show much outward emotion.

"I would like to work out a schedule," he said, after a while. "Would you be comfortable having lessons while my housekeeper is around?"

"Ah," Christine admitted, "perhaps not, because I have not yet told Meg about the lessons."

"Perhaps it would be best," he said gently, "for I shudder to think of the consequences if the theatre club found out. Then we shall meet in the late evenings, after my housekeeper has knocked off for the day."

Together, between the two of them, they managed to cobble up a makeshift schedule that would work for the time being, for Erik Chanteur had had no idea if he would have any sudden commitments with his job. They would meet three evenings a week, they decided, and these evenings would be dedicated to music and music alone.

After Christine had hung up the phone, she sat stilly on the sofa, her heart thumping a little uncomfortably in her chest. Erik Chanteur had just _called_ her. He had just _called her_, and _invited her to more lessons with him_. She thought of the way the man spoke so coolly and distantly, and of the way his green eyes sparkled, and she stood up with a smile spreading across her face.

_Lessons thrice a week?_ She could barely wait.

XXXXX

A/N: Who wants lessons with Erik? -raises hand- Hope you guys enjoyed! As usual, please follow/fav/leave a review to let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Still in a writer's block and it's really late now, so I don't have much to say for this chapter. I just hope to be able to write more soon!

moonlightrose1991: Sigh, I listen to music all the time while I work, but it's just not working well for me now ): I hope to get over it soon too, thank you for your encouragement and support!

Masked Man 2: I feel like it's normal for Christine to not want to tell Meg, because even in reality, you wouldn't tell your best friend everything immediately, I guess... especially if it's something out of the ordinary and a little strange! Theo's a character I would like to develop a little more... it would be good for Christine to have another friend!

emeraldphan: Yes! I'm glad you could see that Christine is developing some feelings (though non-romantic); at this point in time she's probably starting to get more and more curious about Erik. I do like a slow build up (;

Tsuray: Hmm well she's not in love yet, definitely no! That part's going to take much longer. They haven't known each other long enough yet! (; But yes, in upcoming chapters, maybe!

RedDeathLvr: Thank you for your support! I hope you like the new chapter, too (:

**Chapter 8**

Christine stood in her position on stage, wincing as she watched Mr Chanteur argue with Charlotte. In fact, the whole cast was currently silent and watching the pair.

"I see nothing wrong with my singing, Mr Chanteur," Charlotte huffed, crossing her arms over her bejewelled bosom. She was dressed in a red and green bustier that was encrusted with faux jewels, and a full skirt made of a thick embossed material, complete with panniers, as per Carlotta's costume in the actual musical. The costume department had outdone themselves.

"You're not singing as Carlotta, Miss Redcliffe," he said coolly. "You're singing as yourself."

"So what?" She demanded. "How exactly would you want me to sing?"

"Like Carlotta," he said drily and slowly, as though he were talking to a five-year old. "Your role, Miss Redcliffe."

"You want me to sing horribly?" She pursed her lips at him. "In front of the audience? Can you think what that would do to my reputation?"

"It takes a skilled singer to be able to sing in a 'horrible' voice, as you so put it. You knew what you were getting into when you accepted this role." He snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Playing the role of Carlotta is not about showing the audience how lovely you think your voice is. It is about acting the role of the overbearing diva who's well beyond her prime."

"Then that role should go to Christine," Charlotte said icily. "For that's exactly what she is, isn't she? The diva who's well beyond her prime. She used to play the lead until I took over, Mr Chanteur. I don't know what miracles you think you can pull off by putting her in the lead, but it was a mistake."

"Enough. I grow tired of arguing with you over this." Erik Chanteur said harshly. "You may not have received the role of Christine, Miss Redcliffe, but it is extremely ungracious of you to be bitter about it. Although you can't quite seem to sing as Carlotta, you most certainly behave like her."

"What?" Charlotte blustered, flushing red. "You—"

But he had already walked off the stage, signalling to the technical crew to start up the music again. "Any more complaints, Miss Redcliffe, and I _will_ replace you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Christine saw a few of the cast members shaking their head in annoyance. They were not strangers to the arguments between Erik Chanteur and Charlotte; over the past rehearsals, Charlotte had taken every opportunity to go against their mentor, almost as though she were punishing him for taking the role of Christine Daae away from her. To Erik's credit, he had not fallen for her bait yet.

The music started again, and Christine focused on the beat, preparing herself for the dance that was to come.

After the rehearsal, Christine shooed Meg off to walk home by herself first, claiming her shift at the supermarket as the reason. She waited until all the cast members had left, then walked up to where Mr Chanteur stood, packing his scores away into his briefcase while tapping on the screen of his phone at the same time.

He looked at her distractedly as she approached. "Is there something you wanted to say?"

"Should I have gotten the role of Carlotta instead?" Christine mused. "Perhaps Charlotte was right, and we are playing out the Phantom of the Opera in real life. She as the upcoming young singer who cannot get a role due to the overbearing diva who can no longer sing."

"Such drivel," he snapped, "should not ever get past my ears ever again. Miss Redcliffe thinks too highly of herself, and not so much of others."

"She has the voice," Christine reminded him.

"So do you," he said, looking at her straight in the eye. "If you can get over this lack of confidence. Is this yet another hurdle we have to cross, Miss Sangare? First I had to help you get over yourself and start singing again, and now I have to help you be confident?"

Christine scowled at him. "No, Mr Chanteur. Thank you indeed for the vote of confidence. I'll see you around, then."

"Can I give you a ride back home?" He asked, raising his eyebrows at her. "Or are you going to throw another tantrum and refuse to come for lessons?"

Christine stared at him indignantly, but the tell-tale glint in his eye told her that he had not been serious. She sighed. "I have a shift at the supermarket, but thank you for the offer."

"To the supermarket, then," he said, shrugging. "It is not that much out of my way. Besides, I kept all of you late after the rehearsal, and you'll have to rush for your shift now. Come along."

Christine accompanied him silently to the Academy's parking lot. He deftly retrieved his car keys from his pocket and led her to a sleek black Bugatti Veyron convertible, standing proudly by itself in a lot. Christine stared at the car.

"This isn't your usual car," she said.

"It is," he informed her smugly. "The other car is used when my manager drives me around. This is my personal car."

She put out a hand cautiously to open the door, scarcely daring to touch the gleaming surface, as though she might leave fingerprints behind that would mar its glossy finish. She got in, and watched as he slid into the leather seat with an air of satisfaction. He slid the key into the ignition and the engine began to purr.

"It must be tiring, having rehearsals and then work," he observed quietly as he drove. "It's already eight and your shift lasts until, what, midnight when the supermarket closes?"

"I manage," she said, shrugging. "Besides, singing energizes me more than it wears me down."

"You've grown," he replied, sounding a little amused. She looked at him to realize that the corners of his mouth were turned up slightly in a semblance of a smile, or as close to a smile as he usually gave, anyway.

"Grown?"

"A few weeks ago, you were the girl who refused to sing because she couldn't get over herself, the girl who wanted desperately to sing yet kept herself from singing," he reminded her gently. "Now, you tell me that music energizes you, as it very well should."

"I'm glad," Christine said, staring at her fingers. "For I think papa would have been proud to see me get through this."

"He would." Erik Chanteur had reached the supermarket, and he stopped at the side of the road, unlocking the doors of the car with a click. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Thank you for the ride, Mr Chanteur," Christine climbed out of the car. "And… for everything, of course."

She shut the door and made her way to the supermarket.

XXXX

"Hello, Henry," Christine smiled at the doorman.

"Good evening, Miss Sangare," Henry said, beaming at her.

"Please do call me Christine," she said, rolling her eyes amusedly as she stepped into the lift. "You don't need to stand with such formalities with me, Henry. I'm just plain old Christine."

It had been a couple of weeks since the first rehearsal, and she came here three times a week. Henry now recognised her, and he never failed to smile kindly at her whenever she came to this building, which made Christine glad. It made the cold building a little warmer. Often times, she had stepped into the lift to find herself standing beside one of the building's occupants, dressed richly in their expensive coats and jewels, looking her up and down in her department store sweaters and jeans. She had attempted a smile at one of them once, only to be rewarded with a snooty sniff as the woman sashayed out of the lift on her floor, leaving Christine standing awkwardly in the lift as the doors closed again.

The giant metal contraption brought her up to the penthouse floor, and she stepped out just as the door to Erik Chanteur's house clicked open.

"Oh," said Christine, blinking in surprise. She had expected the man behind the door to be the composer himself, but instead it was the dark-skinned man she often saw around the house, yet had never had a chance to speak to before.

"Hello Christine," he said pleasantly.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I know your name…" She trailed off awkwardly, and he laughed, sticking out his hand.

"Nadir Khan at your service. I'm Erik's manager, though you may have already guessed that."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Nadir." She shook his hand firmly. "I'm here for my lesson with Mr Chanteur. Is he in?"

"Mr Chanteur?" The man's eyes twinkled. "You call Erik 'Mr Chanteur'? He used to tell me it made him feel extremely old whenever someone called him that."

Christine blinked at him, at a loss for words, and Nadir laughed.

"Don't take it to heart," he said. "If Erik hasn't corrected you yet, he probably doesn't mind. Anyway, he's in the music room, but I would tread carefully today if I were you. He seems to be in a foul mood tonight, so every little thing will annoy him. Maybe even 'Mr Chanteur' will."

Winking, he stepped past her and made his way to the elevator. Christine entered the apartment, removing her shoes cautiously. She was not quite sure that she could handle him when he was in a bad mood. She walked to the music room and knocked on the door, before grasping the handle and opening the door.

Erik Chanteur was so engrossed in his music that he had not heard her enter. He sat at the piano, his fingers angrily playing out a tune that was both aggressive and demanding in nature, with loud discordant chords that probably reflected his current mood. Christine leaned against the doorway, watching him play. He was a man with mercurial moods, she had learnt—he had a quick temper, and an anger that died down just as quickly as it had arrived. It made her feel a little overwhelmed at times, but she had learnt to understand how his moods worked, even after only a week of working with him. At times like these, it was best to wait for him to forget what he had been angry about before talking to him.

Eventually, the music stopped, and he removed his hands from the keyboard, flexing his fingers. Christine smiled slightly and entered the room fully, closing the door behind her. At the sound of the door shutting, he looked up sharply, then relaxed when he realized it was her.

"Why did you not stop me?" He scowled. "How long did you have to stand there?"

"It was only five minutes, Mr Chanteur," she said lightly. "Besides, I enjoy hearing you play."

"Mr Chanteur makes me feel old," he said shortly. "I cringe a little every time I hear any one of you call me that."

Christine tried to suppress a smile, for Nadir had been right. "Can I call you Erik, then?"

He looked a little surprised, as though he had been expecting her to be flustered or to apologise. "Be my guest."

"In return, please do call me Christine," she said, digging into her bag for her scores. "What made you so angry, anyway?"

"Curiosity always did kill the cat, Miss Sangare," he said mock-pleasantly, ignoring her request. "If you must know, it was because I have been invited to _yet_ another movie premiere, and I couldn't think of any way to refuse."

"A movie premiere cannot be so bad," Christine said, wrinkling her nose. "I should think most people would be rather excited to go."

"It's such a pity that my name is Erik, and not 'most people', then," he said sardonically, and despite herself, she laughed.

"I would love to see what a movie premiere is like," she said conversationally. "Meg's always showing me photos of events in the magazines she reads, and everything looks very glamorous indeed."

He pinned her with a hard look. "Really? Flashing cameras, nosy reporters… glamorous?"

She shrugged, walking over to him to place the scores onto the piano. "I wouldn't know, _Erik_, because I've never been to one. Though I suppose reality is never as glamorous as the media portrays it to be; how would the magazines sell otherwise?"

"Would you like to come with me for this one?" He asked suddenly. "I was told to bring someone along; I think the media wouldn't quite like it if I showed up with Nadir on my arm."

Christine stared at him, then burst out laughing, for the image had been too ridiculous to even comprehend. It was only after she had stopped that she realized Erik Chanteur had actually made a joke. It was so unlike his usual distant demeanour that Christine was actually a little shocked.

"Well?" He said expectantly, and she realized with a jolt that he had not been joking about the invitation.

"You're asking me to go with you to the premiere?" She asked, feeling a little light-headed.

He scowled. "If you'd rather not… I just thought that perhaps you might want to see what it was like."

"I'd love to go," she heard herself say. Strangely, it felt like her brain and her throat were not quite agreeing with each other. _Did I just… agree to go with Erik Chanteur to a premiere?_

"That's settled, then," he said simply, as though she had just answered a simple question of whether she wanted some water. "Shall we have our lesson now?"

XXXXX

It was only afterward, on her way home, that Christine realized she would have to let Meg know about the lessons. She had nothing suitable to wear to the movie premiere, and Meg, with her flair for fashion and spendthrift tendencies, had a wardrobe that could probably rival a movie star's. If she told Meg about the movie premiere, she would have to reveal that she had been going for lessons with Erik Chanteur for the past couple of weeks; after all, it was hardly likely for the man to invite her to an event if he barely even knew her.

Christine sighed as she pondered about Meg's reaction. She would have to swear her to secrecy, that was for sure, but really, she had no idea how Meg would respond. One thing was for sure, though–she wasn't looking forward to letting Meg know.

XXXXX

A/N: As usual, please leave me a review/fav/follow, it keeps me writing! Reading your reviews makes me happy after a long day of work (: xx hazel


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: The good news is I'm making myself write now while I still have a bit of time during the holidays (before my summer break is over), but the bad news is I still don't know where this story is going and I have no plot ideas. Oh well, baby steps, I suppose!

Masked Man 2: Thank you! Erik's character is honestly my favourite to write, I feel like he's so faceted that it's fun revealing a specific side of him at certain instances. I hope the conversation with Meg doesn't disappoint, just in case you were expecting a major blow-out or something!

Tsuray: Love's not going to come so early, I'm afraid, hahaha. But yes a movie premiere! Christine's one lucky girl.

fruityfangirl: Thank _you_ for reading and leaving me a review! (:

moonlightrose1991: Thank you for all your support as always (:

grandma paula: Thank you! I think I remember you leaving reviews on MLR as well, so welcome back! I'm actually a student studying business in university (: But I'm very, very flattered that you think my writing skills are good!

Skyila: No worries about it! I've been so busy too, I barely have time to surf the net. Still, it's great that you got some inspiration to write, I love those moments!

emeraldphan: Yeap, I decided to write Christine as less meek, since she's a modern 21st century girl and all (we don't take no crap from nobody, thank you! Haha)... I'm glad you like her character this way!

box5: hehehe (:

XXXXX

**Chapter 9**

"Are you joking?" The blonde, petite girl who had been her friend for years stared at her, her mouth agape. "Christine Sangare, tell me you're joking."

"No," Christine admitted ruefully. "You know, Meg, for years I've been trying to get you to keep quiet… if I'd known all it would take would be something like this—"

"Don't joke around now!" Meg whacked Christine with a pillow. "What did you just tell me? You're going to a _movie premiere_? With who?"

"Erik Chanteur," Christine repeated patiently. "Meg, can I explain?"

"Erik Chanteur!" Meg cried shrilly, seemingly still at a loss for words. "Mr Chanteur, the mentor of our theatre club production! My mother's employer! Erik Chanteur!"

The blonde girl flopped back onto her bed, rubbing her face in disbelief. "Ok, speak. I need to know everything."

"Well, Mr Chanteur – or Erik, as I'm supposed to call him now—offered to give me lessons to get me ready for the first rehearsal, since he knew that I couldn't sing in front of a crowd."

Meg sat up sharply. "What, it's 'Erik' already?"

"Don't make it out to be more than it is, Meg." Christine frowned. "He told me that he dislikes it when people call him Mr Chanteur because it makes him feel old. I asked him to call me Christine, but he insists on 'Miss Sangare'. Anyway, we had some lessons, and I thought it would all be over after the first rehearsal, but he offered to continue with them, so I just accepted."

"I can't believe it's been about three weeks and you didn't say anything to me!" Meg stared at Christine accusingly. "I wondered where you kept disappearing to in the evenings."

Christine winced sheepishly. "Sorry, Meg… I didn't want to let anyone know, because it seemed like such a strange situation."

"It's only strange because you chose to keep it a secret," Meg huffed. "It makes it seem like you have something to hide—that's what makes it strange. But forget that! A movie premiere! I'm so envious I could kill you to take your place!"

"I have nothing to wear," Christine told her.

"I know, isn't that why you decided to tell me your little secret?" Meg fixed her with a gimlet glare. "I'm very disappointed in you, Christine Sangare, but I'll get you back another time. Now I've got to think about what you can wear."

Christine laughed and gave Meg a huge hug. "Thank you."

XXXXX

A tap on the door caught Erik's attention, and he raised his head in time to see Nadir enter the room, carrying a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Erik raised his eyebrows.

"Any special occasion?"

"Just thought I'd have a drink with an old friend," Nadir said ruefully, sitting himself down on the sofa and uncorking the bottle. He poured a generous amount into each glass.

Erik smiled a half-smile, and walked over languidly, folding his long limbs onto the sofa beside Nadir, and accepting a glass of wine from him. "How was your day?"

Nadir snorted. "Being your manager is definitely not the easiest job. I had to keep telling Nathaniel that getting you to go for the premiere was about as good as it would ever get, but he kept insisting that you had to bring someone along. As of yet, we still have not reached a viable conclusion."

"Then you can rest your soul, Nadir, for I'm bringing someone," Erik said, swirling his wine in his glass and staring into the rich burgundy depths.

Nadir looked up sharply. "You're bringing someone? Who?"

"Christine," Erik replied. "And I don't wish to hear any warnings or advice, Nadir. Not this time."

"It's Christine now? Not Miss Sangare?" Nadir asked wryly. "How did this happen?"

"I told her to stop calling me Mr Chanteur, and she offered to let me call her Christine. I didn't, though." Erik shrugged. "She said she had never been to a movie premiere before, and I offered. She accepted, and that's the end of the story. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Ah," said Nadir finally, after a long moment of silence. "But as it is, I shall not say anything, Erik. I believe you have matured enough from that last time to make the same mistake again. And I do believe that Christine is very different from… her."

"Yes," said Erik, with a slight note of bitterness in his voice. "I believe it has been long enough since Mirelle. What a fool I must have been."

"Not a fool, Erik," Nadir said, smiling a little sadly, "just young and desperate to learn what love was. We are all guilty of that, and you're not infallible."

"Honestly, I don't know what I would do without you as my voice of reason," Erik said dryly, reaching over for the bottle and pouring them both another generous measure of wine. "To old friends, Nadir."

"To old friends," Nadir echoed as they clinked their glasses together.

XXXXX

Christine stood gamely in her living room as Meg fussed over her, patting stray hairs into place and smoothing the fabric of her dress. It had taken a whole afternoon of work from Meg, but at last she had declared that Christine was ready to go for the premiere.

Christine had teased Meg that she sounded just like the fairy godmother from Cinderella. She half-expected Meg to suddenly wave a wand and shout "At last you shall go to the ball!" At that, Meg had good-naturedly hit her on the arm and told her to behave. Still, Christine was thankful for Meg's expertise—her own experience in makeup consisted of mascara, lipstick and the occasional eyeliner, and her wardrobe was pitiful at best, for she had always managed to make the excuse of not being in the mood to shop, or not having any occasion to shop, anyway.

Meg gave Christine a final once-over, then stepped back with an immensely satisfied look on her face. She grasped Christine's shoulders and marched her to the mirror that hung near the door.

"My finest piece of work yet," she declared dramatically. "Look at yourself, Christine Sangare!"

And so Christine looked.

Her brown hair was curled neatly in loose ringlets down her back, and Meg had dusted a shimmery pearlescent eyeshadow onto her lids. Her eyes were heavily rimmed in black, and a fresh pink highlighted her cheeks. Her lips glistened with a coat of peach gloss. She was clad in a high-necked black maxi that slowly graduated to a shimmery silver fabric nearing the hem, creating a lovely ombré effect. Meg had bought the dress when it was on mega-sale, but had never had the opportunity to wear it anywhere. She had insisted that Christine borrow it for the occasion. The look was complete with chunky black strappy heels and a black clutch that Meg had pushed into her hands.

"What do you think?" Meg asked triumphantly.

"I look… nice," Christine murmured. "Thank you, Meg. Honestly, I don't know what I would do without you."

"You would show up at the event in an old, boring dress, that's what," Meg chastised. "Christine Sangare, you _have_ to let me take you shopping soon. There's nothing in that wardrobe of yours!"

Christine grinned. "Fine, we can do that. It'll be my payback for not telling you the secret sooner."

Meg's eyes lit up—there was nothing she loved more than having a life-sized Barbie doll in the form of Christine to makeover. "I'll hold you to that, girl, and don't you forget it."

Just then, they heard the sound of a car engine outside, and Meg hurried to open the front door. The nondescript, ubiquitous black SUV had stopped right outside Christine's gate, and the back door opened to reveal Erik Chanteur. He was dressed in a black suit tonight, with a crisp linen shirt and a slim black tie. His shoes had been polished to a shine, and he walked up her driveway with an air of easy confidence.

Meg whistled in Christine's ear. "He polishes up well."

Christine hushed Meg, chuckling at the girl's dramatic comments, though she had to agree with her. If Erik Chanteur had been vaguely attractive before, he was now looking rather dapper in his suit. In fact, Christine thought, he suddenly reminded her again of a large predatory cat, all debonair and sleek.

"Christine," he said in his deep musical voice, startling her. It was the first time he had called her that, after she had told him to.

"Erik," she said, smiling nervously. He held out his arm and she took it.

"Good evening, Meg," he said, nodding at her. Meg beamed cheerily.

"Hello to you, too." She said, ushering them out the door. "I'll be waiting here when you get back, Christine. Have a good time!"

Erik guided Christine carefully down the driveway, and opened the car door for her. She climbed in as gracefully as she could while wearing a long dress.

"Hello, Christine," Nadir said from the front seat.

"Oh! Hello!" Christine smiled at the man. "Are you coming with us?"

"I'm just the driver for today," Nadir winked at her. "Though I thought that I would have to be Erik's date if he couldn't find anyone to go to the premiere with!"

"I would rather have gone alone than with you," Erik muttered, getting into the car.

Christine laughed, though Nadir shrugged it off amiably. "Can't imagine the scandal it would create if he turned up with me, anyway. The great Erik Chanteur, turning up with a man as his date?"

"However," he said on a more serious note, looking at Erik through the reflection in the rear-view mirror, "please do try not to be rude to any more reporters, Erik."

Erik made a very disgruntled noise. "I wasn't rude to that hag."

"Nevertheless," Nadir said sternly. "Christine, please do make sure he's a perfect gentleman all evening. I shall give you leave to hit him if he does not behave."

His eyes were twinkling as he said that, and Christine could not help but laugh despite how nervous she felt. She glanced cautiously at Erik, and saw that his face was relaxed and calm despite his sarcastic tone. There was a strange camaraderie in the way the two men talked; they seemed much more familiar with each other than she had expected them to be, for Nadir was only his manager, after all.

"It seems a bit silly to ask this," she said suddenly, "but I don't even know which movie premiere we are going to."

"The Girl in the White Dress," Erik said. "I'm sure you've heard of it before."

"What?" Christine screeched before she could stop herself. "That movie?"

"Is there something wrong?" Erik asked, bemused. "Do you not like to watch romance?"

"Yes—I mean no—" Christine spluttered. "Yes, I like to watch romance, and no there's nothing wrong. But… That movie! It's been hyped up for the past, what, three months? Everyone's been waiting for it to be released! Nathaniel Griffin! Tess de Lecie! Everyone loves them. Oh man, Meg will have a fit."

The corner of Erik's mouth tipped up slightly at her exuberant rambling. "Then it's a good thing I asked you along for this, isn't it?"

"Yes," she told him solemnly. "Without you, I might not die happy after all. But after tonight… I think I just might be able to."

At that, Erik laughed.

It was a delightful sound, all rich and throaty, and warm. Christine did not think she had heard him laugh before, but in that instance she decided that she would have to make him laugh more often, for hearing it felt wonderful.

"Nathaniel's an old friend of mine," he said conversationally. "I agreed to compose the soundtrack for this movie because he asked it as a favour of me."

"Oh," said Christine, for she could not imagine the cold Erik Chanteur agreeing to do a favour for anybody, much less the large favour of composing an entire soundtrack.

"Erik's soft at heart," Nadir said, grinning at Christine's response. "Nathaniel fed him a long speech about how acting in the movie would be that much more amazing for him if Erik could compose the songs that would be played in the movie, and Erik fell for it hook, line and sinker."

"You're the one who helped him in convincing me," Erik snapped irritably. "I was practically dragged to the meeting to sign the contract."

Christine silently watched the two of them bicker, a little confused by their conversation, but enjoying hearing the two of them talk anyway. It was not often that Erik Chanteur spoke more than a few short sentences, and now she revelled in the moment, allowing his smooth voice to flow over her like silk.

"Ah, now we have left Christine out of the conversation," Nadir said apologetically, suddenly catching her gaze in the windscreen mirror.

"Oh, no," Christine said hurriedly. "I enjoyed hearing you two speak… wait… that came out wrong."

She flushed red even as Erik chuckled, but thankfully neither he nor Nadir pursued the matter. The rest of the journey was passed in an amicable silence, with Nadir making the occasional comment and Erik replying with his usual caustic remarks.

XXXXX

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Happy Vesak Day to all who celebrate it! As usual, please read/follow/fav/leave a review to let me know what you think! xx hazel


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello there! I hope you all had a great week. I've managed to write a little more of this story, so here goes nothing. Honestly, Slightly Broken isn't moving along as fast as My Little Rose did, so I'm wondering if I'm doing anything wrong/different with this story. Please do give me your honest comments so that I can improve! (:

Guest: Thank you! I do hope you enjoy this chapter about the Premiere! (:

box5: hehehe (:

Masked Man: Mirelle is a character who I will (presumably) go deeper in-depth about in upcoming chapters! I'm keeping things mysterious by dropping only small hints about her as the story goes, hehe!

emeraldphan: I agree! I think friendships are very important; no man is an island. I prefer to write Erik as a more humane person compared to the actual Phantom, in that he appreciates and values friendship! (:

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**Chapter 10**

Finally, the car stopped, and Nadir turned slightly to glance at Christine. "Are you ready for this?"

Christine gulped. "I think so?"

"It will be fine," Erik said quietly from beside her, his tone low yet reassuring. "Let me do the talking. Don't say anything more than you absolutely need to."

With that, he opened the door and stepped out, before walking over to the other side of the car to help Christine out.

She placed a foot on the pavement and lifted herself out of the car as nimbly as she could, clutching onto Erik's hand tightly.

There was a murmur, and then a volley of flashing lights. Christine found herself blinking to clear her eyes of the dark spots dancing across her vision.

"Who's that, Mr Chanteur?" One reporter shouted. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"Catch a photo of that woman, quick!"

"Mr Chanteur, Mr Chanteur! Look this way, please!"

"Who's that woman with you?"

"Can we have an interview later on?"

"Mr Chanteur! Is it true that you have stopped composing recently and have taken on the role of a mentor?"

"Mr Chanteur! Mr Chanteur!"

Christine let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding in. "Wow," she murmured.

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "Are we good to go?"

"Yeah," she said, looking incredulously at the mass of reporters shouting questions at them, prevented from coming too close by the barricades. "I think we're good to go."

He smirked, as though he were saying 'I told you so', reminding her of when he had cynically shot down her idea of a movie premiere being something rather enjoyable. Then he held out his arm to her, and breathing in deeply, she took it.

He stopped before the media wall, where another crowd of ravenous photographers waited, with their black cameras gleaming like stainless steel cutlery.

"Five seconds," he told them curtly, and another volley of flashing lights and clicks momentarily blinded Christine again. Then he was tugging on her arm again, indicating that they should move, and she mutely followed him into the foyer of the large theatre.

It was darker inside the building, and Christine had to wait as her eyes adjusted to the difference in lighting. The lights in the foyer were dim, with metal sconces on the wall casting a soft electric glow around the place. Tall, thin tables had been set up around the place, and crowds of people were currently milling about greeting the other guests, or gathered around the tables holding their flutes of champagne.

"Erik Chanteur, in the flesh!" A voice boomed from behind them, and they turned to see a strikingly handsome man striding toward them with a blonde woman on his arm.

"Ah, Nathaniel," Erik said dryly. "It should not be such a surprise that I am here. Hello, Miss de Lecie."

The couple had neared them, and it was for the first time that Christine saw Nathaniel Griffin and Tess de Lecie up close. They made a devastatingly good-looking pair. Nathaniel Griffin was tall and debonair in his slate grey pinstriped suit and black bowtie, with his dark hair combed back neatly, and Tess de Lecie held onto his arm elegantly, her lithe figure encased in a sheath of pure white and her blond hair swept into an elaborate up-do.

"How is it that you manage to make me feel like an old librarian every single time?" Tess de Lecie grumbled. "'Miss de Lecie', indeed! I have lost count of the number of times I have asked you to call me 'Tess'."

"Ah, Erik's like that, Tess," Nathaniel Griffin said, his eyes twinkling. "It will take much more than that to make him drop his formalities. And _who_ is this charming lady right here?"

He shifted his gaze to Christine, who flushed a bright red.

"I am a fan!" She blurted out. "I love both of your movies, Mr Griffin, Miss de Lecie!"

She heard Erik snort from beside her and she gulped in embarrassment. "I mean… ah…"

"She's one of my new students at the Academy," Erik cut in smoothly. "Her name is Christine."

"Christine," Tess de Lecie said, smiling brilliantly and holding out a hand. "Thank you for your praise, indeed."

It was with a very flustered voice and rapidly beating heart that Christine shook hands with both Nathaniel Griffin and Tess de Lecie, feeling a little faint indeed. She took a photograph with them on her mobile phone, thinking that Meg would be insanely jealous when she saw the photo. After thanking them, she made her way back to where Erik waited. He nodded at the pair of actors, before they went off to greet other guests.

"I'm just curious," Christine asked, "But how do you know Nathaniel Griffin?"

"We met at the Academy," Erik said shortly, as way of explanation. "He was one year my junior, and we had a class together."

"Ah," Christine began to say, but she was cut off by a loud voice calling Erik's name from behind. She turned to see a portly man rushing toward them, his hands clutching a camera.

Erik tensed.

"Erik Chanteur!" The man smiled saccharinely. "What a surprise. Who's that with you?"

"Reporters aren't allowed in the foyer, Trevner." Erik said acidly, frowning at the man and ignoring his question. "What are you doing here?"

"My dear Mr Chanteur," Trevner said, beaming again, though his smile did not quite reach his eyes, "I have some connections. They can't exactly deny entrance to a reporter from _The Scoop_, you know. Our newspaper is widely read…"

"I highly doubt so," Erik spat, rolling his eyes. "A gossip rag, 'widely read'? Nice try, Trevner."

"That's not what the readers were saying a couple of years ago when those articles came out, Mr Chanteur." The reporter's smile hardened a little at the corners. "You remember them, don't you?"

"The drivel you write is of no concern to me," Erik said coldly.

"Really?" Trevner smiled a wide smile. "Then, who is this young lady here?"

Erik looked most displeased with the situation, as though he had been hoping that the reporter would forget Christine's presence. He turned to leave, but Trevner cut in between Erik and Christine, smiling at her in a rather disarming manner.

"Fabien Trevner, top reporter at _The Scoop_," the man said pompously, sticking his hand out toward her. "And who are you, miss?"

Christine stared at his outstretched hand, unsure of whether she should take it, but before she could respond, Erik had grasped her shoulders and guided her away.

"She's nobody _The Snoop_ should be reporting about, Trevner," Erik warned over his shoulder.

"It's _The_ Scoop!" Trevner snarled as they walked away. "It was good to see you, Mr Chanteur."

XXXXX

After the premiere, Christine found herself safely ensconced within the car, listening to Erik's blistering comments about the reporter they had met earlier.

"You would do well to stay away from him, Erik," Nadir observed wisely. "The last time he reported something about you…"

"Do not remind me about that," Erik snarled. "That lowlife excuse for a reporter should not even have been let into the venue. 'The Scoop', indeed. That newspaper is an utter rag and everyone knows it."

"Yes," Nadir agreed patiently, "but the problem is that people still read it. You know how entertainment news is like, Erik. And honestly, it's not you I'm worried about, it's Christine…"

"Me?" Christine wrinkled her nose in concern. "Why?"

"You're not used to being in the public eye," Nadir said, catching her gaze in the reflection of the windscreen mirror. "And the media rags can be hurtful with their words. Perhaps bringing you to a movie premiere has not been Erik's best decision…"

"No," she cut in, hoping to defend him a little. "I do not regret going to this premiere at all. Regardless of what the newspapers can report."

Nadir sighed.

Christine looked sideways toward Erik, but he looked contemplative, and remained silent, staring out of the window at the passing buildings with a stony gaze.

When they reached her house, Erik made to open his door to help her out, but she shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Thank you for the invite today. I did enjoy myself."

The ghost of a smile drifted across his face, but he merely nodded. Christine thanked Nadir for the ride, and stepped out of the car.

As she entered her house, she could not stop a niggling thought at the back of her head. She wondered what Trevnor had reported about Erik, to warrant a warning from Nadir to stay away from him. As far as she knew, there were very few articles about Erik Chanteur – Meg had tried to search for information about him, but had come up with not much – which made it even stranger. Christine sighed; she would have to find out what it was, or risk having the same questions clamouring to be answered at the back of her head.

She booted up her laptop, and opened a Web browser, before typing in the name of Trevner's newspaper. She did a quick search for Erik's name. She stared at the blank screen as it loaded slowly, biting her lip with apprehension, wondering why exactly she was nervous about doing this. It felt wrong to be searching for information about him, and perhaps, just perhaps, she was worried that the articles she were about to read would tarnish her image of him.

As the page loaded, Christine's eyes widened. Meg must not have been very thorough in her search, for there on the page right before her, were two articles with Erik's name in them.

_'Genius composer having secret affair with student.'_

_'Possible case of coercion in composer's relationship?'_

Christine clenched and unclenched her fists nervously before clicking on the first link. She read through the article with a furrowed brow, the crease between her brows deepening as she scrolled down the page and read. With a sinking feeling in her heart, she pressed the 'back' button, and clicked on the second link.

In the ten minutes she had taken to read the long, malicious articles, she had found out much more about Erik Chanteur, much more than she had ever expected to know.

According to the first article, Erik Chanteur, genius composer of the century, had been found to be in a secret relationship with his student, after she was photographed leaving his apartment in the early hours of the morning, though the couple had declined to comment. The second article was more shocking; it painted him as a vile, perverse creature who had forced his student to be in a relationship with him despite her reluctance.

Christine closed the browser, feeling sick.

It had not been a coincidence after all, the way the reporter had leered at her. He must have thought – Christine groaned, dropping her head into her palms.

There was nothing queer about their relationship; Christine was fairly sure that Erik saw her only as a student, and she in turn respected him as her teacher. And yet—and yet, now that she had read the articles, she could not stop the ugly doubts from invading her mind.

They made her feel sick.

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A/N: Uh-oh! Wonder what's coming next? Anyway, do read/fav/follow/leave a review to let me know what you think! It would be much appreciated! xx hazel


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I got caught up with RL stuff last night and forgot to post.

I get worried with every chapter I post because the number of chapters I have left to be posted is dwindling, so it means i have to write faster. I'm currently still stuck, to be honest, because I can't think of a plot. We'll see!

Masked Man 2: Yes the student is Mirelle! More about her soon (;

box5: Thank you for your support (:

emeraldphan: I agree! Knowing all the bits and pieces of rumours can't be doing anything good for Christine... And thank you for always leaving a review and encouraging me, I really appreciate it!

Guest: Thank you! For reading, and for leaving encouragement behind!

RedDeathLvr: It sure doesn't look good for Erik! Haha!

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**Chapter 11**

Christine hefted her book bag higher onto her shoulder, as she put one hand on the handle of the theatre door. She pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked loudly. She wished that the school would send somebody to fix the faulty hinge.

She looked up from the door handle to find a dozen pairs of curious eyes staring at her in silence. She blinked back at them curiously. Nobody said anything, or moved. Christine looked around, taking a few cautious steps in. Still, nobody responded. They just continued to stare at her.

"Okay… is there something going on here, guys?" She asked. "Did I… Did I come in at the wrong moment?"

Someone coughed loudly, but nobody said anything. Christine took a deep breath.

"Right," she said, gesturing awkwardly, "I'm just going to go and sit over there…"

"Is it true?" Someone blurted out.

"What?" Christine asked, turning to look at the person in question. "What's true?"

"What it says in the news," the girl playing one of the ballet rats said. "The film premiere?"

"The… news?" Christine said slowly, her mind turning in clockwork-fashion. "What news?"

"It's all over the Internet!" Someone called out. "Surely you must have known?"

"I don't know anything!" Christine said, her head starting to throb. "What are you all talking about?"

"You and Mr Chanteur!" One of them said loudly. "Your photos are splashed over the Internet! Are you dating him? Is that how you got the role?"

"Honestly though, if it were so easy to clinch a role somewhere by dating me, I wouldn't have so many letters sent to my manager every week, asking for a chance for an audition," a voice said mildly from behind them. Christine whirled around to see _him_, standing there in his usual relaxed manner that belied his graceful predatory behaviour, one hand in his pocket and the other clutching the handle of his briefcase.

He raised his eyebrows at them. "Is there something going on around here, perhaps? Are we not having rehearsals now?"

"The only thing we want to know is whether Christine got the role through _other_ means," Charlotte said loudly and snidely. "Come on, Mr Chanteur, the truth is splashed all over the news."

He walked toward them, and the crowd scattered a little as he neared, like a pack of deer fleeing before a leopard. But he merely walked past them and placed his briefcase on the table, opening it to remove his scores.

"The truth," he said conversationally, "is that she has more potential to play the role of Christine Daae well, as compared to you, Miss Redcliffe. Have we not discussed this before? Numerous times?"

"There are pictures of the two of you all over the Internet!" Charlotte said a little shrilly. "Explain those, Mr Chanteur!"

"Are there no photos of you on the Internet, Miss Redcliffe?" He asked, almost sarcastically, not bothering to look at her as he flipped through his scores.

There were a few chuckles from around the theatre, and Charlotte flushed.

"You know what I mean, Mr Chanteur. What _I_ think is that the two of you had some… some distasteful _arrangement_, and she somehow managed to make you give her the role of Christine Daae. And now you've even gone public about it!" She said nastily.

There was a sudden silence in the room as Charlotte spat out the words that most of them had no doubt been thinking about, but had not dared to voice. Christine paled, thinking of Nadir's grimness in the car the previous evening; this must have been what he had been warning her about.

There was a soft thud as Erik deliberately dropped the stack of scores he had been holding onto the table. He turned to face Charlotte slowly, and his prior veneer of politeness had disappeared, leaving a face set in stone, his green eyes cold and hard.

"Jealousy is an ugly thing, Miss Redcliffe," he said softly. "And I would thank you not to insinuate anything without any real evidence, or I will not hesitate to sue you for slander."

"You're joking!" Charlotte exploded. "The evidence is right there before you!"

"I don't joke around, Miss Redcliffe," he said coldly, turning away from her to look at his scores again. "A few photographs on the Internet can hardly count as evidence. Though if you're dying to know so badly, Miss Sangare did my manager and me a huge favour by accompanying me to the premiere, because I needed to bring somebody with me, and she just happened to be there when I learnt about it—not that I really needed to explain myself to you."

He said that loudly, seemingly to insinuate that he was saying it to everyone in the theatre. It was a silent warning to them not to bring up the matter again.

"You expect us to believe that?" Charlotte asked incredulously. "Your made-up-on-the-spot story? It sounds like utter bullshit."

"Whether you believe me or not makes little difference to me, sadly," he smiled at her, a hard, dangerous smile. "Now I would like to suggest that you take the day off from rehearsals, Miss Redcliffe, for I find myself at the end of my tether for tolerating you."

"You disgusting, arrogant man!" Charlotte spat. "I just wish—"

"Come on, Charlotte, give it a rest," one of the theatre club members murmured, coming forward and taking Charlotte's shoulders to guide her away. "Let's not waste our rehearsal time…"

"Right," Erik said decisively, turning back to look at the rest of the members. "I trust that we can start rehearsals smoothly now?"

Red-faced and ashamed, most of the theatre club members mumbled 'yes', and set about preparing to get ready for rehearsals.

For the rehearsals that day, Christine worked extraordinarily hard, to make sure that any rumours about her getting the role through other means would be quelled. Nevertheless, she could not stop the nasty feeling in her gut. Meg had not turned up for this rehearsal because the _ballet de corps_ were not needed, and Christine felt a burning need to talk to her. Talking to Meg would probably make her feel better.

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It turned out that she did not have to wait long. Meg accosted her as she stepped out of the theatre after the rehearsal ended.

"There you are!" The blonde girl hissed, slinging an arm across Christine's shoulders and dragging her along as she brisk-walked. "I've been waiting for rehearsals to be over so I could talk to you."

"About what?" Christine asked dully, though she could make a rough guess over what Meg wanted to talk about.

"Haven't you seen the news?" Meg looked at her incredulously. "Your face is—"

"I know, I know." Christine sighed, cutting her off. "It was all everybody could talk about during rehearsal. Charlotte threw a fit, Erik got angry with her, and then nobody could quite look me in the eye afterward. But I haven't actually seen the news yet."

"You're probably not going to like it," Meg said grimly.

"Just tell me one thing—who was it written by?"

"Some reporter at _The Scoop_, why? It's one of the biggest gossip newspapers on the entertainment industry."

Christine sighed heavily again. "Let's talk after we get back to my house, Meg."

When they were back in Christine's house, both snuggled on her bed under the covers, Meg waved her phone at Christine. "So you're saying you actually met this reporter last night at the premiere? And now that same reporter published an article on you?"

Christine nodded.

"How did the premiere go, anyway? Did you meet anyone famous?" Meg asked, her eyes twinkling. "I would have given anything to have gone as well."

Christine smiled teasingly, and showed Meg the photo she had taken with Nathaniel Griffin and Tess de Lecie. Meg squeaked in envy, grabbing a pillow and hitting Christine with it.

"You terrible child!" She mock-wailed. "How could you show me that just to make me jealous? Christine Sangare, you ingrate! After I lent you my dress, too! I couldn't be more jealous. Nathaniel Griffin looks _hot_ in that photo!"

Christine laughed at Meg's dramatic reaction, but sobered quickly. "Still, even though I enjoyed the premiere, I met Trevner there. He seemed pretty interested in who I was, and Erik was less than welcoming toward him. So… when I got back… I did a search on Erik Chanteur."

"You?" Meg's blue eyes widened. "You, the person who calls me a 'stalker' when I do things like that? So, what did you find out?"

Christine mutely booted up her laptop and slid it over to Meg. "Take a look."

Meg quickly skimmed through the articles on the browser. "Oh man," she said.

"Yeah, 'oh man'." Christine agreed grimly. "They sound so bad no matter how many times I read them."

"He doesn't mince his words, does he? This Trevner person?" Meg winced, scrolling through the second article. "I mean, it's little overboard to describe Mr Chanteur as a 'cold, calculating psychopath who has no qualms about forcing his will onto innocents'. Honestly, Mr Chanteur doesn't seem that bad a person, but then again, you never know…"

"It just seems like such an extreme description," Christine protested. "I mean, Erik has been nothing short of courteous."

"But that could just be part of his ploy to lure the poor, innocent you," Meg waggled her eyebrows at Christine.

Christine scowled at her, and Meg shrugged.

"All I'm saying is, you should just be careful and watch out for anything strange. I know he's been nice to you, and honestly, my mother only has high praises for him, but all the same, don't let your guard down too much."

"I'll be careful," said Christine, twiddling her fingers. "I guess I should take a look at the article now, shouldn't I? Seeing as it's my face that's being plastered over the Internet."

She did a quick search on the article and came up with it in a moment.

_'Chanteur after yet another student!'_, the headline of the article proclaimed in big, bold letters. Christine stared at it, a little hesitant to read on.

"Go on," Meg urged. "Just read what that creep of a reporter has to say, so that you can get it off your mind."

_Genius composer Erik Chanteur is perhaps most known for his scandal last year regarding his illicit affair with his student. At the premiere of _The Girl in the White Dress, _Chanteur was spotted with a fresh face, though he angrily refused to allow her to speak to _The Scoop's_ reporter. A guilty conscience, perhaps? Upon further investigation, it is believed that the young woman is a student at The Academy, where Chanteur currently teaches at. It seems that Chanteur has decided to target this student as his next conquest, and here at _The Scoop_, we shall anticipate eagerly if history will repeat itself in this illicit affair. Stay tuned as we bring you more news!_

"Illicit affair?" Christine said incredulously. "That man can spin rumours out of thin air."

"That's his job," Meg said drily. "Nobody would want to read _The Scoop_ otherwise. With this article on the Internet, I take it rehearsals didn't go too well."

"Charlotte confronted him about it," Christine said. "She made a scene about how I got the role through 'other means', since she clearly believes she's the better singer."

"She's just jealous," Meg waved a hand airily. "She can't stand the idea of someone else taking centre-stage, and worse, being the teacher's pet. You know Mr Gilford's always favoured her, but now that Mr Chanteur's the mentor, she probably can't get used to the idea of not being Little Miss Perfect anymore. She'll get over it."

Meg hopped off the bed and picked up her bag. "Anyway, it's late and I'd better get home! Do you have lessons with him tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I do," Christine said. "Why?"

"Well, I'm just _saying_, but you might want to make sure that Trevner's not around Mr Chanteur's apartment hoping to snap a photo of you. You don't want a photo of you leaving Mr Chanteur's house on the papers, do you?"

Christine groaned. "I'd never even thought of that. I'll be careful."

Meg gave her a quick hug. "I'll see you in school tomorrow or something."

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A/N: As usual, please read/fav/follow/leave a review to let me know what you think! xx hazel


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